Wait For No Man
by Gamine
Summary: Now complete! Losing a wife is hard enough, but losing a child... some losses are too much for the human soul to bear.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: Set two years after the end of the movie.

It's all Keith's fault. You try being in a car for two hours with a pirate-loving Johnny Depp look-alike with the soundtrack blaring in your ears and see if you're not writing like a maniac too.

Wait For No Man

Chapter 1

"Looks like rain, sir."

Commodore Norrington squinted at the lowering sky. "It does indeed." He glanced at the black-cloaked palanquin ahead, unable to see inside but knowing the man within huddled there lifelessly, immured in his grief. "Seems fitting, does it not?"

His subordinate nodded wordlessly, and they tramped in silence to the graveyard.

The rain came down in earnest as the parish priest of Port Royal finished his sad duty, and the company retired with dignified haste to the Governor's mansion on the hill overlooking the harbor. Norrington pulled off his tricorne in the foyer, watching a cascade of water spill from it. "And the heavens weep," he said to himself, almost absently.

"Thank you for coming, Commodore," said a husky voice, and he turned to find Will Turner, his face lined with grief. "I've a favor to ask of you, but not now. The Governor has asked me to bring you to him. Will you?"

"Of course." Governor Swann had aged decades overnight, Norrington thought privately, bowing respectfully as they approached him – a man bereft if ever Norrington had seen one. The intelligent eyes were sunken and greyed; the once jocular tilt to the firm mouth was gone, drawn downward into a poignant frown. Norrington thought he knew what the Governor wanted, and he wasn't disappointed.

"I leave on the morrow for England, Commodore." The commanding voice had grown querulous.

"So soon, my lord?" Norrington looked from the Governor to his son-in-law; Will shook his head slightly. No use to talk him out of it, then. Norrington inclined his own head a fraction to show he understood. "I shall have the Eliz – " a grimace from Will and Norrington smoothly edited himself, " – your ship made ready immediately."

The Governor nodded, frowning to himself. "My thanks. In my absence I wish to formally appoint you lieutenant governor, with the further recommendation to his Majesty that you be granted the full governorship upon my retirement, effective immediately."

Norrington stared. "My lord – "

"No arguments," interrupted the Governor with a flash of his old command. "I do not ask your opinion, Commodore, only whether you will accept the appointment if offered, which I have every confidence it shall be."

"I – " Norrington gaped for a moment, then collected himself. "I should be honored, my lord."

"May I be the first to offer my congratulations, Commodore – I suppose I should say Lieutenant Governor." Will Turner held out his hand. Norrington smiled stiffly and took it. There was undoubtedly fine stuff in Turner, he thought. That he had heretofore refused to see it was Norrington's own fault, blinded as he was by jealousy and then a broken heart. He'd not make that mistake again. 

"My thanks, Will. And do please call me Edmund." His smile relaxed into a grin as he saw the surprise in Will's eyes, followed by gratification.

"Come," the younger man said. "I'm sure you'd like something to drink."

Norrington bowed to the Governor again and followed Will toward the dining room. "And you have something to ask me that you do not wish the Governor to hear?"

Will nodded as he poured a measure of ale. "I do, and you have made it much easier for me to do so." He poured a second, and they sat in a pair of chairs the bow of the window, watching the rain pour down the panes in sheets.

"I wanted to ask you, Will – how is the babe?"

The blacksmith smiled gently. "I like to tell myself she is the image of her mother. She is well, thank God. Two such losses I could not have – " his husky voice grew thick and he broke off. After a moment, which Norrington spent studying the pattern of the water on the window, Will cleared his throat. "It was about my daughter that I wished to speak to you."

Now that was a surprise. Norrington raised his brows. "Indeed? Of course whatever service I may render– but I fail to see what possible use I could be to a child but three days old."

Will looked him full in the face. "I wanted to ask you to be her godfather."

For the second time in an hour, Norrington gaped. "Me? You want me to – but – " he shook his head, feeling the need to clear it.

"Not for my sake, of course," Will hastened to say. "But I believe it is what Elizabeth would have wanted."

It was Will's turn to watch the rain while Norrington collected himself, blinking back the burning that came to his eyes. "Then, of course, I accept. With thanks." His voice was rough; Norrington coughed. "What do you name the child?"

"I thought to name her after her mother." Will sighed. "The Governor won't have her mentioned in his presence. He blames the babe for his daughter's death." He sighed again. "And me."

Norrington studied him. "He is wrong, you know. And so are you, if you believe him." Will's dark eyes flashed, but he said nothing. "Sometimes the Almighty moves in ways we cannot understand," Norrington went on, not unkindly. "But His will is always beyond our control. You loved Elizabeth, and she you. That is all the truth you need."

Will nodded, his lips pressing together. "Thank you, Edmund." He gazed out the window. "I do believe the storm is beginning to break. The christening will be Saturday morning, in the chapel."

"Not the church?"

Will smiled gently. "Elizabeth loved the chapel."

Norrington nodded, seeing again the radiant bride of two years before, leaving the small chapel on Will's arm, reflections of stained glass patterning her honeyed locks and white gown like the gayest of Harlequins. "So I recall." He got to his feet. "My thanks to you and the Governor for your hospitality, and again, my condolences on your grievous loss."

Will saw him to the door. "I should very much like you to come to dinner on Friday night, Edmund, if you will. My home is next to the smithy, of course."

Norrington smiled. "I shall be delighted to attend. I shall see you and my goddaughter then." He raised a hand in farewell, and began the long walk down to the fort.

~*~

The duties of a brand-new lieutenant governor were many and varied; that Friday afternoon it was with relief that an exhausted Norrington signed approval on a draft of a letter of business, putting his pen back in its holder with an air of finality. He pushed the paper toward his secretary and stood, stretching to crack the small of his back.

"I told you, Weston, I have a most important engagement this evening." Norrington overrode the protests of the other man as he shrugged on his coat. "Tomorrow morning my goddaughter is christened; this evening I dine out. And I shall see you," Norrington set his tricorne on his head firmly, "Monday morning, barring an emergency, of course."

"An emergency? What sort of emergency?" Weston was flustered, and no wonder. This was surely not the way things had always been done. Not that Norrington cared. He had better things to do than reams of paperwork.

"I trust your judgement, man. As an example, notify me at once if," the lieutenant governor stifled a grin, "we are attacked by undead pirates. Good day to you, Weston."

Twilight in Port Royal was her pleasantest time of day, he mused as he made his way down the slope of Governor's Hill. The cool air from the inland peak rolled toward the sea, bringing with it exotic scents of jasmine and citrus blossom, pushing away the damp heat of the day's toils. The sky was dressing itself in gaudy colors; _To tempt the heart of the setting sun_, he thought, watching the clouds turn red and purple and orange. It wasn't often Norrington allowed himself these poetical flights into melancholy fancy; such caprice is not suitable to the military mind. He knew what it was that brought him to such a pass, of course. Thoughts of Elizabeth were never far from his mind these days.

Ah well. What was past was gone. The better man had, after all, won. And lost. Norrington shook his head to dislodge these circular thoughts as he approached the small but pretty cottage Will had built only the year before.

And there was Will himself on the stoop, babe in his arms, beckoning him inside. "Your timing is impeccable, Edmund. My Lizbet," he dropped a kiss on the tiny forehead, "must dine shortly, and then to bed until the wee hours, when I am sure she will demonstrate once again that the tiniest of instruments may yet produce the loudest sounds." He flashed a faint smile at the lieutenant governor. "Here. You might as well get some practice in." Will held the bundle out for Norrington to hold.

He examined the small personage thus offered, then looked helplessly at the mite's father. "You must excuse me, Will, I've no experience with children."

Will actually chuckled at that. "How much d'you think I've had?"

Norrington gave him a rueful smile. "Point taken. Show me how, please." 

"Just support her head, that's the main thing." And suddenly Norrington found himself holding the newborn against his impeccable primrose-colored waistcoat.

He looked nervously at Will. "When will I stop feeling terrified?"

Will smiled, stroking the back of a knuckle down the baby's cheek. "I'll let you know when I do."

Young Lizbet opened her rosebud mouth and made it clear in no uncertain terms that her dinnertime had arrived. Norrington eagerly handed the wailing, red-faced bundle back to her father. Will, in turn, gave her to the wet nurse, a middle-aged Jamaican woman who took Lizbet with a loving smile for the child and a curtsey for the gentlemen.

Will gestured to the table, now set with savory roast mutton and all the trimmings. "Shall we?"

"My word, Will, you do me proud," said Norrington. Will simply smiled.

The dinner was delicious, but Norrington spent the bulk of his time studying the young blacksmith. When the dishes had been cleared and fresh ale poured, Will leaned back and regarded him just as steadily. 

"I really am all right, Edmund. Or I will be. I have to be, for Lizbet," he amended.

Norrington flushed slightly, feeling guilty. "Sorry."

"Please don't be." Will stared at the flickering flame of the candle for a moment. "I believe that if anyone could understand what I feel, it would be you. After all," his dark eyes focused on Norrington, their gaze uncomfortably penetrating, "you loved her too."

Pointless, and dishonest, to deny it. Especially now. "I did. If I'd been man enough to risk everything to go after her; if I'd done what in my heart I knew was right, instead of letting the letter of the law keep a stranglehold on me, perhaps she would have loved me too." Norrington took a drink. "The unvarnished truth is, I did nothing to deserve her. You did."

There was no answer to that; Will made none. They drank in silence for a moment, then Norrington leaned forward. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why me?"

The young blacksmith didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I told you. I believe Elizabeth would have approved. She had a great deal of respect for you." Norrington made no reply, merely waiting. Will sighed. "And because I believe you are the kind of man that would protect her and care for her, and love her for her mother's sake, should something happen to me."

Norrington sat back. "Do you anticipate such an event?"

"No. But the advent of misfortune is something no man can predict." Will regarded his guest steadily. "She is all I have, Edmund, all that is left to me of Elizabeth and the love we shared. I believe you would respect this as no other man would do, and love the child as a father in my stead. Am I wrong?"

The vehemence in the younger man's words took Norrington aback. "No. I will do all that you ask, should the need arise." He contemplated his host. "Tell me what happened."

Will blew out a breath. "'Twas nothing, really, merely a cry from a sorely wounded heart. He was wandering in his wits from grief at the time. He apologized before he left."

Norrington was puzzled. "Who, the Governor?"

"Aye." Will shrugged. "As I say, 'twas a storm that blew itself out. But I realized that if I made no provision for Lizbet and something happened to me, she'd be sent away to be raised by a man who believes he has no reason to love her."

"Ah." Norrington nodded. "I see."

Will held out his hand. "I have your word, then?"

Norrington clasped it firmly. "You do. I shall raise her and love her as you would yourself. But I trust the need will not arise."

That raised a shadow of a smile. "As do I."

Night had long fallen when Norrington rose to take his leave. He walked briskly through the smith's small yard to the gate and turned to close it with his customary care when a furtive movement at the side of the house caught his eye. He squinted, sharpening his gaze.

There it was. Just the merest flicker of red when the firelight from within the house reflected in a certain way. Norrington placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, curling his fingers around the grip. "Show yourself."

A faint tinkling sound, the scent of tobacco and rum and the sea, and the shadows at the side of the house resolved themselves into a familiar shape.

"Evenin', Commodore." Captain Jack Sparrow, his hat clutched in his hands, quirked a mere half a grin, quite unlike his usual cocky self. 

Of course. Norrington wrestled with himself for a moment, then relaxed his hold on the sword with a sigh. He gave the man a wary nod, narrowing steel-gray eyes. "You'll not be here in the morning, I trust?"

Jack inclined his head, clearly surprised. "My word on it."

"For whatever that's worth," the lieutenant governor groused, and turned to go. 

He paused at the corner. Behind him he could hear the smithy door open, a glad cry of 'Jack!', and a masculine sob of grief, quickly stifled against a filthy greatcoat. "All right, lad," came the pirate's harsh tones, greatly softened. "'Twill be all right."

Lieutenant Governor Edmund Norrington looked up at the silver crescent of the moon, smiling to himself. It was hard lesson, balancing one's conscience against the weight of the law.

But he was learning.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: For those of you who are wondering whether there's more to come: I'm just getting started.

It's still all Keith's fault. Many thanks to those readers who read and reviewed. I'd thank those who read and didn't review, but I don't know who you are.

Wait For No Man

Chapter 2

Four years later

"Godpapa!" 

Governor Edmund Norrington braced himself just in time to catch the small child flying down the walk toward him. He swung her into his arms, hugging her close. "Lizbet, my girl! How you've grown!"

She looked at him skeptically through ebony eyes. "You were only gone a week, Godpapa."

He hoisted her up to one shoulder and entered the smithy, ducking slightly to clear the doorframe. "A week away from you, little one, is as a lifetime."

Lizbet giggled, then squealed as he swung her down to the floor dramatically.

Her father, silhouetted in front of the smithy furnace, looked up with a welcoming smile. "Edmund! I didn't realize you were back! Let me just put these things away and I'll meet you in the house in a moment." Norrington nodded and took Lizbet around the outside of the house to the front, listening to her baby conversation with the deepest pleasure. 

Four years ago, he'd made a simple promise to Will. Becoming Lizbet's godfather had been a gift in itself; it had never occurred to Norrington that there would be anything in it for him beyond a few words spoken solemnly in a chapel.

Instead, Norrington had found himself drawn slowly but surely into the daily life of a family, something that had been in short supply in his life. Until now. Will had become the brother he'd never realized he wanted, Lizbet the daughter of his heart.

A friendly hand clapped him on the shoulder and guided him into the cottage. "Are you hungry?"

Norrington chuckled. "Ravenous. Hardtack is hardly my idea of cuisine."

Will grinned. "Thought so. Lizbet," he squatted in front of her to bring his face on a level with his daughter's, "do you think you could go ask Belle to make Godpapa a plate of the cold beef from last night?" The tot nodded vigorously and solemnly, eliciting a laugh from both men. "Off you go, then." She scampered off in search of her nanny.

"So." Will leaned a hip against the trestle table which dominated the room. "What's happened?"

Norrington grimaced. "And I thought I was being so jovial."

One corner of Will's mouth quirked up. "You were. It's not like you. Tell me."

Norrington sighed. "It's Sparrow. He's been arrested."

"What?" The remnant of the smile fell from Will's face. "For what?"

"Piracy."

"No." Will jerked to his feet. "How can that be? You know he's been flying the British flag for three years. He tithes to the Crown. His privateer's commission grants him immunity."

"I know." Norrington winced. "But it's been revoked."

Will went white. "Revoked? But – "

"Will…" Norrington searched for a gentle way to put it, but came up empty handed. "He's accused of attacking a ship flying a British flag. His accusers called him by name, described him closely. Two of them are women; they claim he – well, that he ravished them. The captain was killed, the first mate –"

Will sat weakly and put up a hand to stop him. "Enough. It's not true, none of it."

Norrington simply looked at him. He'd gone over the evidence himself, looking for a hole, and found none. And yet… somehow Norrington found himself doubting the veracity of the witnesses as well. It wasn't so much what they said, but more… well, best to face it. Jack Sparrow was a pestilential blot on Norrington's personal landscape, but… this sort of piracy simply didn't fit with what he knew of the man. Even when on the wrong side of the law Norrington had never heard that Sparrow had ever harmed an innocent.

"So – so he's to hang?" The younger man's voice cracked on the final word.

Norrington put a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "Not yet, at any rate. I managed to convince the judge that while Sparrow may have lost his immunity, he still carries the rights of any of his Majesty's subjects. He goes to trial on the morrow."

Will looked up at Norrington helplessly. "What good will that do? No advocate will represent a man accused of piracy by the Crown."

Norrington quirked a smile. "I will."

"You?" Will's jaw dropped.

"As governor I have the ability to function in any legal capacity I deem necessary," said Norrington, somewhat pedantically.

Will shook his head, as though to clear it. "I know. I meant you would do that for him?"

Norrington shrugged, embarrassed by the dawning gratitude on his young friend's face. If Will knew the real reason he'd agreed to represent Jack, he'd probably try to stop him. Best to put a nonchalant face on the deed. "Apparently."

There was no further time for conversation; Lizbet returned, proudly bearing a sizeable wooden plate piled with cold beef, potatoes, and sliced fruit. Her small pink tongue was caught in her tiny teeth as an aid to balance, and Belle hovered nervously behind. Norrington knew better than to take the platter away from his strong-minded goddaughter, but he was inordinately relieved when she pushed the plate onto the table's worn surface.

"Thank you, little one," he said politely, catching the girl up for a hug. "Now run along with Belle, and in a day or two I'll invite the two of you to spend the night with me at the Governor's mansion, eh?" Lizbet squealed with delight at the promise of her favorite treat and ran off, Belle in tow. Norrington picked up his fork, glancing up at Will. "I'll do the best I can, Will. You know that."

"I do. And I'm grateful, Edmund. Truly grateful. And so will Jack be."

Norrington chuckled. "And the thought of having Captain Jack Sparrow in my debt is one I cherish, believe me." Will gave a small snort of laughter, but it was enough. Norrington smiled to himself and tucked into his meal.

~*~

"Be honest, now, Governor, do I look like the sort of bloke who has to force a woman to bed?" 

Interesting question, considering the source. Norrington stared through the cell bars at the man he'd come to interview. Jack Sparrow sat in a nest of filthy straw, part of which was lodged in his long, matted hair. His fingernails were black, his skin only marginally less so. His clothes were unspeakable.

Norrington opened his mouth to reply, and shut it again as a waft of eau de Sparrow crawled up his nostrils and died there. Norrington could feel his eyes begin to water. "I don't really feel I'm qualified to answer that, Captain. We must deal in facts, not appearances."

Jack grinned. "As you like. Fact is, I've never forced any woman. Unless she asked me to," he added, winking slyly.

Norrington thought about that for a moment, then decided he'd better not. "Yes. Well. Um. These witnesses – can you think of any reason they might lie about this?"

Jack snorted. "You askin' if I've any enemies, mate?"

Norrington could snort too. "No. I know perfectly well that you do. I'm asking who they might be and whether these witnesses might be some of what I am certain is a veritable army of people eager to do you in."

For a wonder, Jack looked nonplussed. "Oh." He shrugged, dislodging a particularly long straw from his hair. "Not that I know of."

"Oh, that's helpful," Norrington said, irritated.

"Hang on, I've thought of one," Jack said, stroking his chin.

"Excellent. Now we may be getting somewhere. Who?"

A slow grin crept over Jack's face. "There's you," he said softly.

Norrington stared at him in disgust. "Well, you've cracked the case. I confess, 'twas I put them up to it, all so I could damage my reputation and my credibility by representing you in a public court of law."

Jack rested his chin on one disreputable fist. "So why are you doing it, then?"

Norrington looked at him disdainfully. "Be glad that I am. No one else would."

Jack got to his feet. "Oh, I am, my good son, believe me. Positively seething with gratitude, me. But I do admit to a touch of curiosity. Why would an upstanding bloke like yourself, and the Governor to boot, stand up in court for a man like me?" Norrington made no reply, and Jack's dark eyes narrowed. "Ah."

Norrington rolled his own eyes in exasperation. " 'Ah,' what?"

" 'Ah,' you, that's what," was the provoking reply.

"Good God, man, this isn't even a conversation!" Norrington exploded. "What is it you think you've discovered about me in your tiny mind?"

Jack folded his arms across his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits. Norrington made a moue of distaste. Jack grinned cockily. "You're doing this for the lad."

Norrington growled. "Can we please get back to the point of this painful discourse?"

Jack pointed at him, triumph written on his features. "Hah!"

"Oh for God's sake. Now what?"

"If it's so painful to you, the only reason you'd be trying to keep me from a date with the hangman is because the lad asked you to." He said it craftily, as though he'd caught Norrington in a lie.

Norrington folded his arms. "Hah, yourself."

Jack blinked. " 'Hah' what?"

Norrington smiled smugly. "Hah, you're wrong, that's what."

Jack shook his head. "Tch. Now you're just being childish."

That stung. "_I'm_ being – "

"I mean, it was a simple question. Well," Jack amended, "technically not a question, more in the nature of a statement, which I invite you to refute." He clasped his hands behind his back and paced, pausing now and then to look over at Norrington, for all the world like a prosecuting barrister. 

Norrington gritted his teeth. "Which I do. Refute it, I mean. Will did not ask me to defend you."

Jack spun to face him. "AHA!"

Norrington actually flinched. "WHAT!?"

Jack chuckled. "Got you on that one."

"Damn it, Sparrow, I've better things to do than waste my time – "

Jack interrupted him. "So. Young Turner has no idea you've taken this task of defending me to try to spare him pain, else he'd've tried to stop you blemishing your good name. That about the size of it?"

Norrington stared. "You're smarter than you look, Sparrow."

The pirate nodded. "I don't know who it is that's blemishing _my_ good name, Governor, or I'd tell you. But it's clear to me that someone wants to stretch my neck good and proper." Jack grinned again. "How's that for cooperation?"

Norrington nodded, feeling resigned. "Very well, Jack. If you think of something, send word to me, will you?"

The prisoner clicked his heels together smartly and gave what he apparently imagined to be a military salute. "Aye, aye, sir. Can I call you Edmund?" 

Norrington threw up his hands and left, muttering to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I will be seeing the movie again tonight, this time with Keith himself. You'd all best prepare yourselves for a furious onslaught of story…

Wait For No Man

Chapter 3

Norrington was still muttering the next day as he retied his neckcloth for the third time. For some reason he seemed to be all thumbs. His secretary came to the bedchamber door, eyeing him as though wondering whether he might bite.

So Norrington bit. "And what do you want, Weston? Have I not enough to do today without you hovering like a – a – thing that hovers?" _Marvelous, Edmund, you silver-tongued devil. The judge will surely be impressed with you today._ Frustrated, Norrington tore the wrinkled neckcloth off and tossed it on the bed, stalking toward his quivering secretary. "What have you there?"

Weston handed him a sheaf of papers. "The depositions you requested, my lord. I took the liberty of looking them over, and if I might draw your attention to one or two points…?" He indicated a particular passage with a shaking finger.

Norrington read, then read again, then smacked himself in the forehead. "Of course. I can't believe I missed it. Weston?"

"Y – yes, sir?"

"You're a ruddy genius." Norrington grinned. "I expect you're thinking along the same lines I am. You'll see to it?"

Weston visibly relaxed, giving his superior an answering smile. "Yes, sir. Yes indeed."

"Well done. But don't go too far with it," called Norrington after the other man as he hurried off. Weston raised a hand so show he'd heard, then trotted down the stairs. Norrington heard the mansion door close as he finished tying a new neckcloth. He began to whistle to himself, then broke into a pleasant baritone. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me…" Of all the things to sing. Norrington laughed and made a face at himself in the mirror. "I'll have your gratitude yet, Captain Jack Sparrow!"

~*~

Loud complaints floated on the morning air down the hall of the gaol from Jack Sparrow's cell. Norrington hid a grin and turned the corner, finding the scene he had expected. More or less.

A harried Weston was tying Jack's assorted plaits and mats into a reasonably respectable club at the back of his shaggy head. The pirate wore a clean shirt and breeches with his dusty boots. His hands and nails were noticeably cleaner, though the back of his neck needed some work. The complaints were aimed at Weston, who was dodging Jack with some skill as the latter tried to retrieve the red scarf he was famous for.

Norrington's grin slipped into view; Jack noticed and snarled. "This is all your doing, I expect. Tell your lackey to give me back my property at once."

Norrington regarded him. "It'll likely save your neck, so stop complaining."

Weston poked Jack in the chest and tossed the scarf to Norrington, who caught it on reflex and rather wished he hadn't. "I'm no lackey, you jackanapes," said the secretary heatedly. "You'll have the courtesy to address me as Mr. Weston, Undersecretary to the Governor."

"I don't care if you're the Governor's underdrawers! Give me back my effects, damn your eyes!" roared Jack, clearly feeling much put-upon. Weston executed a neat pirouette past the pirate and out of the cell, kicking the door shut behind him with a clang.

Norrington held the scarf by one finger and thumb, rather like a dead rat. "Relax, Jack, you'll get it back later. Just for now I must insure you have a later for me to give it back to you in."

Jack draped his forearms through the bars. "And how d'you plan on doing that, Edmund, me old son?"

Weston gaped. Norrington chose to ignore the unwelcome familiarity. "And you might treat Weston with more respect. 'Twas he who noticed that in all the depositions, the description given of Captain Jack Sparrow was uniform. Too uniform. And based largely on clothing and attitude. We remove the clothing, you take care of the attitude, and I wonder if your accusers will be able to recognize you?"

Jack nodded slowly. "You'd make a decent pirate, Edmund. All right then, I'll play. But," he turned a venomous glare on the much-abused Weston, "I'd best get my effects back and in good order, Master Underbelly."

Weston's nose went up in the air. "As though anyone else would want them, you filthy bilge rat." He stalked off in high dudgeon.

Jack chuckled. "I like him."

"Clearly," Norrington said dryly. He picked up the keys to the cell, then hesitated. "Your word, Jack – you'll cooperate?"

"Aye." Jack waited until the cell door swung open, and then he clapped Norrington on the back with one manacled hand. "After all, 'tis my neck in the noose, Edmund." He followed the Governor down the hall.

"Oh." Norrington turned around and was abruptly nose to nose with the pirate captain. "And pray do not call me Edmund in front of the judge. If he were to get the idea that you and I are friends, my credibility would be utterly gone."

Jack's dark eyes went liquid and puppylike. "We're not friends?"

Norrington huffed out an exasperated breath and marched out of the gaol, the prisoner at his heels. "Idiot."

~*~

Disbelief hung in the air so thick it was like breathing custard. Norrington stared at the judge. "But m'lud, the witnesses were clearly unable to recognize their alleged attacker! Obviously some rogue is posing as Captain Jack Sparrow in order to despoil his name – "

The judge snorted. "The good name of a known pirate?"

Norrington frowned awfully; the judge appeared unmoved. "The good name of one of his Majesty's privateers. Captain Sparrow's record was wiped clean when he accepted his commission three years ago. His prior history is not admissible as evidence – " 

The judge's frown was yet more awful. "Do you tell me my business, sirrah?"

Norrington glared. "I am still the governor of this colony, m'lud. I'll thank you to recall that fact in your address."

The judge got to his feet, leaning over the bench. "This courtroom is my domain. And a governor who wastes the public's time to defend a creature like this from the hangman's noose is not fit to hold the title, in my opinion, and so I shall tell his Majesty in my next communication!" His face was shiny and puce; Norrington found himself hoping the man would have an apoplectic fit on the spot, the old windbag. The judge sat down heavily, delivering his verdict at the top of his lungs. "My judgement is for the people of Port Royal, Jamaica: this man is guilty and shall hang at dusk!"

"No!" Norrington leapt to his feet. "Give me but twenty-four hours to prove my case, m'lud."

The judge mopped his forehead with a snowy handkerchief. "I fail to perceive what you could possibly hope to accomplish in that time."

"If twenty-fours hours makes no difference to the verdict, what harm is there in granting it?"

The judge snorted. "I could use the same argument for denial of the motion."

Norrington clenched his jaw. "I shall personally vouch for Captain Sparrow. Twenty-four hours."

The judge raised his eyebrows. "Another tidbit for his Majesty. Very well; you may have twelve hours. Sparrow hangs at dawn." The old blowhard swaggered from the room; Norrington sat next to his client, who was staring at him, black eyes wide.

"What?" Norrington asked defensively.

"I can't believe you just did that. Vouched for me personally, I mean."

Norrington snorted. "Personally I find this entire situation completely farcical."

Jack shook his head as though disbelieving. "You've scuttled your career for me. Well, for Will, but even so… I've misjudged you, Norrington, and I'm not too proud to admit it. You have my gratitude." He stuck out his hand, manacles and all.

Norrington abruptly put his face in his hands and began to laugh.

"Something funny, or are you hysterical?" asked Jack, concern in his tone. Norrington laughed louder. "Norrington?"

He sat up straighter, wiping his eyes. "Both, I think. And Jack?"

"Aye?"

"Call me Edmund."

~*~

Will met Edmund halfway down the street, his expression a mix of eager and worried. "How did it go? Is he free?"

Edmund glanced around; there were still people milling about, though dusk was gathering. "Come inside, Will."

Will preceded him into the smithy and latched the door. "That badly?"

"I'm afraid so. I'm sorry, Will. I really thought I could help him. I still think I can, given enough time, but – " Norrington paused, and Will filled in the words.

"But time we do not have."

"Not for that, no. I had to give the judge my personal voucher, else Jack would be hung now. As it is, he'll meet the noose in the morning."

Will's expression grew steely. "That he will not."

Norrington gave him a nod, enjoying the look of astonishment that crossed the younger man's face when he realized no argument was forthcoming. "Send Belle and Lizbet to the mansion for the night; I shall join them there in a little while. I have preparations to make, as do you."

Will blinked. "You'll help?"

Norrington nodded grimly. "I will. I don't relish seeing a man railroaded, even Jack Sparrow. I've a plan forming." He gave his friend a grin. "Oh! Here is the evening's manifest for guard duty at the gaol in my pocket." With a flourish, Norrington dropped the paper on the floor. "I must keep careful track of that, else some unscrupulous masked person might anonymously break into the gaol with fell design during the period between ten and eleven this evening, when the guard will be one short." He gave Will a look. "Kindly note the use of the words 'masked' and 'anonymous', my friend. Last time you just walked in. In broad daylight."

Will picked the paper up, laughing. "Last time I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. You play the fool quite well, Edmund."

Norrington gave him a small bow. "Now to the matter of concealment. Should you run into any persons who might require a place to hide temporarily, you would do worse than to bring him, her, them, or it to the stables on the governor's estate, where a trusted friend might be waiting to assist."

Will walked over to the rack of swords on the smithy wall and selected one, giving Norrington a nod. "Understood."

Norrington nodded himself. "Take care, Will. I promised to love Lizbet, not to deprive her of her father."

"Nor her godfather, come to that. She cannot spare either of us." Will smiled. "'Twill be well, Edmund."

"I certainly hope so."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: OK, don't say I didn't warn you…

Wait For No Man

Chapter 4

__

Bloody hell. 

Jack Sparrow - _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, he emphasized mentally – sat curled on the stone bench in the holding cell of the Port Royal gaol. _Jack, me lad, you've come a ruddy full circle._ He scratched his neck thoughtfully. Nooses were circular. _Ugh._

The watchtower clock chimed. Ten of the clock, and all's well. Unless you were sitting in a festering cell on moldy straw contemplating the gloomy but inescapable fact that come dawn your neck would stretch. And that for something you didn't even do. He smiled ruefully. All the things he'd gotten away with, to be brought down by a deed perpetrated by someone else.

His fingers itched. If he could get his hands on the son-of-a-whore who'd claimed his name, he'd show him the meaning of throttle.

But of all things marvelous in the world, what of the change in Norrington? Jack shook his head, still disbelieving. Scuppered his career, he had, and for naught but a twelve-hour stay of execution. Jack had no illusions that Edmund would come up with a lifesaving legal strategy. And he hoped to heaven (not that he communicated with the denizens of that particular locale often) that he'd see no sign of young Turner here. Breaking a man out of prison was one thing when you'd nothing to lose. Be damned if that tiny poppet of a Lizbet deserved to have her father in chains, however.

Uncle Captain Jack, she called him. He smiled. He'd a new tattoo to show the mite, a chick in a nest, with the legend Lizbet below. Sad that he'd not get the chance now.

"Hsssst!" A fully black-clad figure beckoned from the shadows outside the prison grate.

Jack quirked an eyebrow. His heart rose, his stomach sank. Damme if that wasn't the very shape of a young William behind that mask. "Is this wise, Turner? Not that I'm not grateful for the consideration, you understand."

The man seemed to hesitate. "You know me?" The mask muffled his voice, but not enough to fool Captain Jack Sparrow.

Jack chuckled. "And who else would it be?" He glanced behind the figure furtively. "If you've set your course, mate, I suggest you make it quick. Someone's coming."

The black-clad man looked over his shoulder and dodged lightly back into a shadowy nook. Jack waited, a-tingle inside, nonchalant outside.

The man descending the gaol stairs was preceded by his shadow, and then the man himself rounded the corner. He was dressed head to toe in black, his face obscured by a mask. Jack blinked.

"Popular, I am," he muttered half under his breath.

The second man grasped his mask and tugged it free, revealing…

"Will?" Jack furrowed his brow. "Then who – " A movement in the nook caught his eye; quick as a flash he was up and thrusting an arm through the barred cage, fisting his hand in Will's dark shirtfront and jerking him forward as a heavy fist whistled past the lad's noggin. 

Will spun to meet his attacker, his back against the cell bars, shoving the other man away with his foot while pulling his sword from its scabbard. "Hold!" he hissed in a loud whisper, leveling the blade at the interloper's neck. The masked man froze.

Neither looking around nor wavering his blade, Will gave Jack the keys to the cell. "My thanks, mate," said the pirate, unlocking the cell door posthaste and, as an afterthought, tossing the keys out the cell window to the sea below. He joined his friend, dusting his hands together. "Now we'll see who our friend is."

Without further ado he strode to the business end of Will's sword and jerked the man's mask free, receiving the shock of his life. 

"William?" In his bewilderment Jack forgot to whisper.

Both men answered. "Quiet!" They stared at each other, and Jack watched with interest as it dawned on each fellow: the similarities in their builds, their faces, their voices… young Will was indeed the spit and image of his father.

Will's sword lowered, though Jack thought it was likely more that he'd gone numb than a conscious decision. "F-father?"

Tears gathered in Bootstrap Bill's dark eyes. "Will, lad! I thought ye dead… thought that thrice-damned Barbossa must've had ye're blood, since he'd none o' mine."

A heavy footfall sounded outside; Jack placed an arm around both William's necks. "A lovely reunion, and we must catch up, I do see that, but here and now is not the place. Savvy?"

Will blinked and shook his head slightly, seeming to come back to himself. "Of course. Come on." He led the way deeper into the bowels of the gaol, gesturing to the other two that they should secrete themselves in a dark and musty inglenook. They complied, and not a moment too soon, as Jack's absence was noted and the hue and cry was raised. Jack looked at Will, meeting the lad's intelligent gaze; Will raised a finger to his lips with a nod. They could hear the troops being called out, could hear the rush of running feet as the guard assembled outside the gaol. Soon those sounds died away, and Will nodded to Jack. "Time to go."

The three men ran soft but sharp through ill-lit streets, following the guard until they reached the smithy. Smart, that was; the odds of the guard doubling back on itself were slim. 

For a moment Jack expected they'd take shelter in the smithy, but Will merely paused, then set out across the field behind, toward the back end of Governor's Hill.

__

Lovely, thought Jack. _Last place they'll look for me is up Norrington's arse._ He grinned to himself. _Though whatever was up there seems to have crawled out in recent days. _

Ahead of them loomed stables in the dark; light was clearly visible through chinks in the warped and shrunken wood of the walls. Restive horses stomped and whickered within, attesting to their unusual wakefulness at this late hour. Will reached the door first and opened it, looking carefully inside before beckoning the other two men forward. Forward they went; the door closed behind them and the welcoming lights were quickly extinguished.

One lantern remained, far at the back of the stables. Jack wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell of horse and horse's byproduct.

Someone noticed. "I hardly think you're in a position to criticize," said Weston, emerging from the darkness like a wraith from the grave. "The Governor wishes me to make you unrecognizable. Come along."

Jack looked at his companions, but they were studying one another, oblivious to the devious machinations to which their friend and compadre was about, he felt sure, to be subjected. "Just what did you have in mind, mate?"

Weston pulled back a makeshift curtain that hung before one stall gate. Behind sat a large, steaming tub of foaming water. Jack narrowed his eyes at the secretary; Weston returned a tight smile. Jack sighed and began to disrobe, casting annoyed looks at the father and son, who were still ignoring his plight. A giggle from the dark behind the tub arrested his attention.

"What in blazes?"

Weston's smile grew marginally tighter. "His Lordship was aware of your reluctance to join the rest of the world in seeking godliness through cleanliness, so he was kind enough to search out some… incentive more appropriate to your desires. Ladies?"

Jack's own grin grew wide as the Caribbean as two comely wenches stepped forward, blushing and giggling as was proper in such maidenly loveliness. "Edmund went a-whoring for me?" He chuckled. "Greater love hath no man." He eagerly finished removing his shirt, snaking an arm around the waist of one of the wenches. "Come to help a poor old pirate, my lass?" She smacked at his hand with a high-pitched squeal and a giggle. Jack didn't mind. It was all part of the game.

The bucket of cold water that was upended abruptly over his head was a new and unwelcome twist. Jack shook his hair like a dog and glared at Weston. "What was that for? I was cooperatin'!"

Weston did something with his face that looked suspiciously to Jack as though he was trying to hide a smirk. "You've half an hour to be made presentable."

"Half an – " Jack looked at the wenches in dismay, then leaned closer to Weston, who flinched back while trying to look like he wasn't. "Come on, mate, have a heart. Give us an hour," he hissed. "Been at sea for three months, and in bloody gaol since. You wouldn't deny a starvin' man a bit of a snack, would you?"

"I always heard you pirate types had other ways to relieve your baser urges." Weston raised his nose haughtily – or maybe 'twas to avoid the smell of wet pirate. Jack had to admit he was a bit ripe. 

"Other ways?" That was a bit of a poser. What was Master Undersized getting at? "You mean cabin boys and the like? What kind of man d'you think I am, mate?" Weston opened his mouth to reply, but Jack held up a finger. "Don't answer that. Half an hour it is."

~*~

"I always assumed you were dead," Will said quietly. He and his father sat on hay bales near the front of the stable. "They said they'd tied you to a cannon and sent you to the bottom of the sea."

"So they did, lad. But the curse had taken hold, by then, and so I could not die." Bill ran a hand over his face. "Seemed like a lifetime afore the ropes rotted enough that I could break free; 'twas five year or better when I finally got to a shore with a bit o' civilization on it." He sighed. "I'd sent ye the coin knowin' I was condemnin' the brotherhood to remain cursed, and so I still felt, fer what we done to Jack. 'Tweren't right, leavin' 'im to die on that godforsaken rock. I should've fought harder against it, but was overpowered and forced to join the mutineers. 'N then… well, 'n then ye know what they did to me."

Will shivered, imagining his father sinking through the murky water. "Why did you not come looking for me?"

Bill shrugged. "I was what I was, boy, 'n I'd no wish fer ye to see me like that. 'N then I awoke one mornin' an' I knew the curse were over. By then, see, I knew they needed me blood, so I stayed low. When the curse were ended I thought, 'They've gone an' killed my boy.'" He wiped a hand over his eyes. "Nearly did myself in that day from the guilt and grief of it, lad, an' that's the truth."

Will touched the older man's arm in sympathy. "I know."

Bill looked at his son. "Can ye fergive an old fool, lad? I never meant harm nor grief to come to ye. 'Tis a tricky business, the weighin' of one's conscience against the love of a child."

"Aye," said Will with the ghost of a smile. "That I know too."

"Never tell me I've a grandchild?" Bill stared as Will nodded. "Ye're nothin' but a lad yerself."

"I'm twenty-seven, Father, and widowed these four years. Your granddaughter's name is Elizabeth. Lizbet, as we call her."

"Ah." Bill nodded, then looked at his son again, his expression nervous. "Will ye – will ye let me know the lass? I'll not expect the rights of a grandfather, but I would like to see her, even if only once."

Will was affronted at the implication that he wouldn't welcome his father into his life, and touched by the older man's delicate consideration. He decided to tread the middle ground – after all, father or not, the man was a virtual stranger. "There's no hurry, Father. We've all the time in the world to work that out."

The sounds from the back of the stable finally penetrated Will's consciousness. What on earth was Jack doing back there? Weston had said something about a bath when he'd left to return to the mansion, but it sounded for all the world as though Jack – as though he were – Will blushed a deep and intense red. Good Lord. 

Bill was snickering, Will noticed – but he was blushing just as deeply. The older man rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Some things don't change, I see."

"I suppose not –" The stable door crashed open before Will could finish his thought, blowing out the flame of the single lantern. The two men leapt to their feet, reflexively drawing weapons, ignoring the sounds of cursing and splashing that came from behind them. 

Weston stood before them, panting hard, his face white in the moonlight, his eyes huge and dark. "The Governor…" he gasped, grasping Will by the upper arms, heedless of the sword Will rapidly dropped.

"What? What's happened?" Will shook the secretary. "Is it the guard?"

"No…" Weston swallowed. "There's been an attack… at the mansion…" He grasped his side, wincing; Will could see a dark stain spreading below his hand. "Pirates… the Governor… I think he's dead…"

Will went white. "Lizbet?"

Weston shook his head. "Gone…" With that he collapsed to the stable floor.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: Something of a rollercoaster, this one. Keep your hands and arms inside the ride, please.

Wait For No Man

Chapter 5

"No…" 

Jack had wrestled himself out of the arms of the bathing wenches when he heard the stable door fly open. He heard Will's question and Weston's answer; but the worst was Will's anguished denial. The blacksmith's broken voice was more poignant than a howl of grief. Jack's imagination went into overdrive and his heart cracked at the thought of the terrified Lizbet, snatched in the night from the bosom of those who loved her so dearly.

He cursed and struggled his wet body into the shirt and breeches Weston had brought him, listening sharply as Will ran into the night, Bootstrap Bill hard on his heels. "Leave it, girl," he hissed at the wench who was combing the last of the mats from his wet and streaming hair. "Leave it!" He struggled into his boots, groping for his cutlass. Jack tore the curtain from its moorings and nodded at the prone body of Weston. "Take care of him," Jack said shortly to the two frightened women as he leapt over the undersecretary and sprinted after Will.

The blacksmith was like a man possessed, running flat out to the top of the hill, bursting into the mansion, taking the stairs four at a time to get to the room his daughter customarily shared with her nanny. Jack caught up with him at the door to the gaily decorated chamber to find the blacksmith tearing apart the bedclothes, ripping through the wardrobe, his breath coming in short gasps. Finally Will sank to his knees, his face as terrible and empty of life as Jack had ever seen. The blacksmith pounded his fists once on the floor, then raised them to the sky, a roar of rage and supplication and despair torn from his lungs.

Black fury solidified in the region of Jack's heart. 

He'd find the ones who had done this. And he would kill them.

~*~

"Search the grounds, men. The scoundrel Sparrow may still be about. Look lively!"

Soldiers by the dozen milled about in the mansion hallway below; Jack drew back instinctively from the risk of discovery, finding Bill at his back. "Tread careful, Jack, an' ye've nothin' to fear," his old friend said quietly. "Keep 'em from my boy, will ye? He's near daft with grief an' as like to kill one of the fools as not. They'll not know ye now."

Jack looked at the onetime pirate questioningly; Bill jerked his thumb in the direction of an ornate mirror. Intrigued, Jack stepped closer.

The man staring back at him was a nob, a gent, an aristocrat who had dressed somewhat hastily, perhaps pulled from his bed in the middle of the night. Though his black hair streamed over his shoulders, gone were the beads and plaits; his face was clean and free of kohl; his beard was trimmed short, his cheeks shaven. Provided he kept his pirate's brand hidden and played the part… Jack smiled grimly, raised his chin haughtily and marched down the stairs. 

"May one ask what you intend to do about this outrage?" Jack used his plummiest tones, doing a creditable impersonation of Norrington at his stiffest. 

The soldier in charge, one Lieutenant Gillespie, the same Lieutenant Gillespie who had escorted Jack to his cell only the day before, spun on his heel and started at the sight of Jack. The pirate folded his arms across his chest and pursed his lips, cocking a dark eyebrow in the approved upper class manner. 

"And you are…?" Gillespie paused suspiciously, waiting for a name.

"John Finch," said a voice from above. "_Lord_ John Finch," Edmund clarified, white-faced and leaning heavily on Bill's shoulder as the older man helped him down the stairs. Jack gave the nonplussed lieutenant a lordly nod as Edmund reached his side.

"I don't recall seeing that name on any passenger list," Gillespie began.

"And I don't recall submitting one," said Edmund contemptuously. "You forget your place, Gillespie, in questioning my guest when my goddaughter has gone missing and my home and person attacked. What are you doing to find her?"

"We are searching the grounds, my lord," Gillespie said defensively. "You may not be aware that the scoundrel Jack Sparrow escaped from gaol tonight – apparently this is his repayment for your good offices on his behalf."

Jack opened his mouth to reply hotly when Edmund trod on his foot. "Nonsense," the Governor replied. "What makes you think Sparrow had anything to do with this?"

"We found this," said Gillespie, producing a piece of paper. "Stuck to my lord's front door with a dagger."

Edmund took the missive, read it, and handed it to Jack wordlessly. Jack scanned it, his mouth drawing down in a scowl. It was a ransom demand… from Jack himself. _"The girl will be returned to you safely upon receipt of one thousand gold pieces. If not, on your own head be her fate. Sparow."_

Fury surged through Jack's veins at the cavalier use of his name, and at the implication that he'd ever hurt a child, this child in particular. They'd even misspelled his ruddy name, not that it made a flaming whit of difference to them that would accuse him. Engorged with rage, Jack stalked a distance away, half-listening to Edmund verbally flay the luckless Gillespie. "Whoever this rogue is, he may be sailing into the blue with my goddaughter even as we speak, and you waste time searching my property?" the Governor thundered. "If anything happens to that child from your delay and carelessness, Lieutenant, the King himself will hear from me! Do I make myself clear?"

The soldiers departed posthaste, a good-sized flea in the Lieutenant's ear; Norrington sat heavily on the single chair that remained upright among the mess that had been his foyer, clutching his head in his hands. Jack moved to his side and squatted to look into the Governor's face. "You all right, mate?"

Edmund gave a humorless chuckle. "It sounds like Jack, but it doesn't look like him. Weston did an excellent job. I would have had trouble knowing you myself."

Jack nodded. "Aye, he did. Hope the poor bastard's still alive."

"What?" Norrington jerked his head up to look at the pirate captain, then winced as his head presumably objected. "What did you do to the man?"

Jack gave him a black frown. His reputation had suffered enough this night. "I'm not the type to kill a man over a bath, Edmund."

Edmund nodded, more slowly this time. "Of course not. Are you saying the miscreants who took Lizbet attacked Weston?"

"Aye. Stabbed, seems like. I left your wenches to care for the man. Capable women, whores. Usually." Jack kept watching the top of the stairs, distracted. 

Edmund reached for him and the pirate helped the governor get to his feet. "Come, Jack. I must see Will."

~*~

They found him seated on the edge of Lizbet's bed, dry-eyed, clutching a pillow to his chest as though to stanch the bleeding inside. Bill hovered nearby, clearly unsure of what to do. Edmund knew how he felt. How could he comfort Will when his own heart was shattered?

Jack deposited Edmund on the bed Belle would have taken and went to the younger man, raising himself yet a further notch in Norrington's estimation. Will had been right all those years ago: Jack Sparrow was a good man.

Jack knelt in front of Will, gently prying the pillow away. Will stared at him, hollow-eyed; and then he clutched the pirate's shirtfront and buried his face against Jack's chest, keening like a wounded animal. Jack wrapped his arms around the younger man, hard, rocking them back and forth. "Hush, lad. 'Twill be well. We'll get the lass back, I swear."

Will wasn't weeping, not in the conventional sense; to Edmund it sounded like something between gasping and retching. Edmund waited until Will had subsided to hiccups, feeling like sobbing himself. "They said they were part of your crew, Jack," he began softly, catching the attention of the other three. "They came bursting in here not two hours ago and made straight for Lizbet's room. I tried to get between them, but one of them had what I believe you term a cosh, and made good use of it." Edmund rubbed the back of his head. "I was trying to get to the child; one of them came at me with a sword, but another said…" his voice drifted as he remembered the scene so vividly imprinted on his mind. "He said not to kill me, that I was part of the plan." 

"What does that mean?" Bill wanted to know, his gaze narrowing suspiciously on Norrington.

"I've no idea," said Edmund, his temper getting the better of him, "but you surely don't think I would have mentioned it if it meant what you seem to be implying!"

"Edmund is above suspicion, Father." Will's voice was flat. "He'd no more hurt Lizbet than you would."

"Not much of a recommendation, if you ask me," Norrington said angrily. "It's bloody convenient that you showed up tonight, Barnacle Bill or whatever they call you!"

Bill fisted both hands. "Now ye listen to me, ye pansy milksop, I've swabbed the deck with better men than ye! I came to Port Royal to stop Jack hangin', nothin' more nor less. 'Twas in Tortuga I were when they brought him low, an' hang me if it's not God's truth, I stowed away on the very ship that brought him here."

"And we should believe that?"

"Gents," said Jack, interposing himself neatly between the two furious men, "I suggest you murder each other another time. Just now we've a lass to retrieve." He went back to Will, helping the younger man to his feet. "We need to get to the Pearl." 

"Which is where?" Edmund asked.

"Tortuga," Jack grinned. "I told Gibbs to hold her there 'till I got back.

Edmund looked at him. "You were for the gibbet, Jack. What do you mean, until you got back?"

"You forget one thing, Governor." Jack chuckled. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?" That got a weak smile out of Will, as Edmund was sure Jack intended.

Edmund snorted. "As of right now you're Lord John Finch, unless you want to keep that dawn appointment."

Jack got to his feet, hauling Will with him. "The only appointment we've got right now is in Tortuga, with the fastest ship in the Spanish Main. Someone in Tortuga will know where our bird's flown to."

"My lord?" Weston was at the door, a wench under either arm, swaying slightly. "Thank God, my lord, I thought you were dead."

Edmund looked at his secretary with relief. "The feeling is mutual, Weston, I assure you. And now… to plan."

"Can ye commandeer a ship?" Bill wanted to know. "Bein' governor's got to be good fer somethin'."

Edmund shrugged. "I can, if you want to answer a thousand questions and take along a garrison of troops."

"In that case…" said Jack with a cocky grin…

~*~

The fast clipper they needed, HMS Makara, sat anchored a short distance from the Port Royal pier. Norrington, in full gubernatorial rig, haughtily invited a young Navy ensign to row him out to the ship on "surprise inspection". Awed by the coat, the wig, and all the foofaraw, the young man did as he was bid.

The ship was manned by sailors, mostly, with a single officer on duty. Edmund put on his most intimidating sneer. "So, this is the newest pride of his Majesty's Royal Navy, is it? We shall see."

The officer was sleepy-eyed and bewildered. "'Tis late, my lord, and we are ill-prepared for an inspection –"

"Exactly why I chose to come tonight!" thundered Edmund. Generally speaking, in his experience the louder one shouted the more one could obscure the issue. "Do you think, then, that pirates will wait to attack until you are at the ready, man?"

"P-pirates?" The officer was truly on the ropes now. "We've had no reports of pirates in the vicini—"

"I see." Edmund allowed his voice to go deadly quiet. "Well, we must hope that they check in with you prior to sacking the city." He made as if to leave. "I shall be only too happy to make my report in the morning – "

"No – wait – please, my lord Governor," the agitated officer said, wringing his hands.

Norrington turned on the hapless man a glare that would reduce a better man to a quivering heap of blancmange. "Well?"

"Look alive, there, you salts! Make ready to sail!" the officer called to his skeleton crew.

Edmund began mentally to count backward. The faintest glint of gold on top of the fo'c'sle caught his eye. _4, 3, 2, 1…_

At his feet was a large bucket of soapy water. Norrington kicked it over, sending suds toward the center of the deck. "Good Lord, I'm sorry, man," he said loudly to the officer, who stared at the spreading bubbles in dismay. Edmund blustered. "Damned thing shouldn't have been there in the first place… OOP!" He slipped forward, threw his arms around the officer and tossed him overboard. "Damme, my apologies, son," he leaned over the gunwale and hollered to the officer as he surfaced, spluttering. "Dangerous things to have around, buckets!"

Three masked men leapt lightly to the deck from the fo'c'sle; the sailors began to muster. "Now then, gents, we're taking this ship, and the Governor with us!"

"No!" cried Edmund in an excess of fear. "They'll not take me! You there, boy, take my place!" He whipped off his long, curly wig, plopping it on the young sailor's head backward. "Look out!" Edmund cried, grasping the man's breeches at the small of his back and flipping him over the gunwale.

The three masked pirates, for surely that was what they were, began meanwhile to clear the deck at swordpoint. "Jump, son," said the tallest of the three gently to a particularly fearful sailor, quaking in his striped hose. The sailor nodded and jumped.

Two would-be Navy heroes ran forward and skidded wildly in the bubbles, their arms pinwheeling wildly before they collided and were helped overboard by the quietest pirate.

One sailor left. "Oy!" shouted Edmund to the last pirate. "You must be that scoundrel Jack Sparrow!"

The pirate faced him, fists on hips. "I only wish I were as clever, as dashing, as handsome and as daring as the famous Captain Jack Sparrow!" he shouted back, tossing his head and presenting his profile to its best advantage. 

Edmund rolled his eyes. "So then you're _not_ Captain Jack Sparrow?" he hollered back, just to be clear.

"No!" the pirate yelled. "Much good that information will do you, Governor!" The largest of the pirates tossed the last man overboard. 

"Oh help!" cried Edmund to the heads bobbing in the water as the sails filled and the clipper began to move. "I am being abducted against my will by this brigand who is clearly _not_ Captain Jack Sparrow!"

The quiet pirate tugged his mask off. "Aren't you overdoing it a bit, Edmund?" Will asked.

"You forget, I was _in_ the Navy," the Governor responded. "It's impossible to be too obvious with them."

Jack, for his part, had disposed of his mask and was twirling the wheel with exquisite skill, while Bill handled the sheets. "Now," he said, "for Tortuga and the Pearl."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: A little shorter than usual, but it's been hard for me to get to the computer, and I figured some was better than none. You may not agree… Oh, and hi, Keith. 

Wait For No Man

Chapter 6

That man wasn't who he said he was. She might be only four, but she wasn't stupid.

Lizbet opened one dark eye. Good, it was just her and Belle. The little girl sat up, wiggling her hands. No, still tied tight. She sighed. Papa was going to be very, very angry at that man. And Godpapa, and most 'specially Uncle Captain Jack.

Her lower lip trembled, ebony eyes filling with tears. Then she squeezed her eyes shut, tight. She didn't want to cry. The man would know she was scared if she cried.

It would be all right. Papa was sure to be coming. Lizbet was worried about Godpapa, though. One of the men had hit him on the head and he fell down, and she thought he might have hurt himself 'cos he didn't get up and make them leave her alone.

At least the rag around her mouth was gone. Pretending to be sick had been a clever idea, she thought proudly. Belle was not as clever. She still had a rag 'round her face, and was all tied up too, 'cept her hands were behind her and her feet were tied, which made her more tied than Lizbet was. Lizbet squirmed, trying to loosen her hands again. Uncle Captain Jack told her once that if a knot got wet it made it tighter. These knots must have got awful wet.

Lizbet looked around. The sun was up, streaming through a porthole in the hold. Lizbet knew they were in the hold 'cos it smelt horrid and fishy. She was sitting on a pile of dirty rags. She looked down at her nightie and shook her head sadly at its torn and stained condition. Papa really was going to be very, very angry.

Belle was awake now, she noticed. Lizbet struggled to her bare feet and padded her way over to her nanny, tugging Belle's gag down with both tied hands and then snuggling into the bound woman's lap. 

Belle lifted her knees to bring the child closer. "Are you well? They hasn't hurt you?"

Lizbet curled against Belle's chest and sniffled. "My head hurts, back here." She rubbed carelessly at the back of her head.

"Bend it forward, let me see then." Belle spent a time trying to move Lizbet's honey-colored hair with her lips and chin, then gasped and said a sharp word Papa wouldn't have liked. Her voice got softer again. "You has a little cut there, lamb. They hit you on the head too, like old Belle and the good Godpapa."

"Why did they hit us, Belle?"

Belle frowned. "I don't know, child, not for sure." She kissed the tot lightly on the head. "But you know what I t'ink? I t'ink these pirates in for some unhappy endin's, when your papa and the Captain Jack come. And they is comin', don't you doubt that, not for a minute. Look at me, child." Lizbet looked up at the only mother she'd ever known. "You know I loves you, like my own child you are to me. And you know I don't lie to you." Lizbet nodded. "There may be scary times comin', Lizbet. But you don't fear, you hear me? You listen sharp and do what Belle say, quick and without askin'." Lizbet nodded again, her dark eyes solemn. Belle smiled. "Our time's comin', lamb, I promise. Old Belle, she got some pirate in her too."

Lizbet nodded a third time and nestled close, feeling much better. Belle never, ever broke promises.

~*~

There she was. Tortuga.

Edmund ran his fingers through his hair, pushing back the long strands that had long ago come out of his club and now constantly whipped across his face. He'd go retie it, but it was his turn at the sheets. Bill had the wheel; Jack was taking a well-earned nap after sailing them all through the night.

Will slept on. At least Edmund hoped he did. The young father was in a state of extreme exhaustion; he had finally fallen asleep while keeping lookout on the bow. The sight of Bootstrap Bill Turner tenderly picking up his full grown son as though he were no more than Lizbet's age and carrying him into the cabin was one that Edmund would remember for a long time.

Bill shouted to him; Edmund nodded and let out one of the lines, watching the sail fill with wind. They'd had a solid blow now for most of the early morning. Edmund squinted across the horizon toward the island that was rapidly growing in size. The harbor was dotted with sails; one of them had to be the Pearl.

Jack came up from below, looking refreshed. "That didn't take long," remarked Edmund.

"Aye. I never sleep much when on the sea," said Jack with a grin. "She's too exacting a mistress." He looked Edmund up and down. "You begin to look the part, Edmund."

Norrington raised his eyebrows, glancing down at himself. True, he'd removed his coat and waistcoat; they were unnecessary nuisances when sailing. His white shirt hung loose and unbuttoned, tied at the waist with a sash he'd found in the hold. Well, he'd seen both Jack and Bill wear their shirts this way, letting the body of the garment fill with cool sea breezes instead of sweating like a pig in heat. It only made sense. 

His boots were scuffed after a night at sea, his breeches tighter than usual in the humid air. Edmund glanced back up at Jack, who was chuckling. "I think I carry off the look of a pirate at least as well as you do a gentleman, Lord John," the governor said, a twinkle in his steel-gray eyes.

Jack laughed in earnest then. "Better, I should say. Welcome to Tortuga, Edmund."

~*~

"You told me you'd killed Norrington." The speaker's tone was surprised and annoyed.

"We did, left him with a dent in his head the size of my fist." That person nodded, causing the coins and beads tangled in his long black hair to jingle slightly.

"Then would you care to explain that?"

The false Jack took the spyglass offered him and peered through it. "A Navy ship? I'll be scuppered."

His questioner sighed. "No doubt. I don't see any sign of troops, however, nor young Turner, though it's unthinkable he'd not be on board. With Sparrow, of course."

The pirate nodded. "What do ye want me to do?"

"We'll simply move our timetable up a bit. Take our guests to the house now; I don't want them in the way."

"Aye." 'Jack' bowed his way out of the cabin.

~*~

Lizbet tightened her lips and made her angriest face at the pirate who held a knife at Belle's throat, but he didn't care. "Ye understand, then, me young missy? Ye makes a noise I don't like, and Nursie here goes to visit Davy Jones."

Lizbet knew what that meant, and she didn't want Belle to die. "I'm not stupid. Just like you're not Uncle Captain Jack."

The pirate smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile at all. " 'Uncle', is it? Never ye mind, poppet. Soon enough I'll be the only Jack Sparrow on the Spanish Main."

No you won't, thought Lizbet rebelliously, but she knew not to say so. The man who wanted to be Uncle Captain Jack pulled her hair up and rammed a big hat on her head. She looked down at herself in dismay. They'd made her dress like a boy. Ew.

Lizbet watched as they made Belle scrunch down in the bottom of the dinghy, where nobody could see her. The pirate tugged at her arm and sat her next to the other pirate in the small boat. "Ye'll sit here, then, young miss, and no trouble now. And ye," he added to Belle, who was looking very, very angry, "I don't want to hear nuffink out of ye or I'll cut the child. Clear?" Now Belle looked more scared than angry, and she nodded. 

The hat was hot and the dinghy was smelly. Lizbet stuck out her lower lip and looked away from the stupid pirates. Suddenly her dark eyes opened wide. " 'Scuse me?" she said in a very small voice.

"I tol' ye to be quiet, lass."

"May I ask a question, please?" she whispered.

The pirate stared at her, his eyes all small and mean. "What, then?"

She nodded at the ship they were passing. "What does that boat say?" Lizbet was very proud of herself for saying 'boat'. Then they would think she was even dumber, and she could fool them. Stupid pirates. 

The pirate glanced over his shoulder, then laughed. Lizbet hated people who laughed for no reason. "That, my hearty, is the famous 'Black Pearl'."

Lizbet nodded, looking at Belle. " 'Kay." Belle looked back at Lizbet, and the tot knew Belle had understood her. Lizbet knew perfectly well that that was Uncle Captain Jack's ship. She just wanted to make sure Belle knew, too. 

~*~

Will yawned and sat up, disoriented. How long had he been asleep? He squinted at the cabin window, putting up a hand to block the sun that streamed through it. Was it midday?

He got to his feet and crossed to the window, opening it to catch a sea breeze. No, not midday, just a particularly bright morning.

The bay of Tortuga was spread out before him, filled with ships of every description. Including… Will smiled slightly. The Black Pearl. He wondered briefly whether Jack had gone over, but a quick glance told him that all the Makara's skiffs were in place. Waiting for Will himself, most like. He made to close the window, then paused. A small dinghy was rowing for shore, carrying two men and a small boy in a preposterous hat. Will's lips tightened, his mood rapidly darkening. That child must be just about Lizbet's age.

He closed the window and headed for the deck.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: Really, I think I could just have titled this one "Fun With Jack and Edmund".

Wait For No Man

Chapter 7

Norrington was aware of a small qualm as he clambered over the gunwale of the Pearl. He glanced over his shoulder at the Makara; behind him Bill climbed aboard and touched the Governor on the arm. "Ye've naught to fear, my lord," Bill said. "The rudder line's disabled. Nobody'll be able to steal her, at least not without we stop 'em. Me own worry's over that bloke Weston. D'ye think he was able to put on a convincing show?"

Edmund quirked a small smile. "I've discovered Weston's a man of many parts, Bill. I expect he was able to answer the ransom demands and any questions the garrison might have, at least enough to delay them haring after us for a little." He shrugged. "'Tisn't as if we can do anything about it if not."

"Aye, 'tis true," agreed the older man. "I been meanin' to say, my lord – ye'll forgive an old pirate his suspicious nature. I meant no slur on yer honor by what I were fool enough to say earlier."

Edmund smiled in earnest. "Consider it forgotten, if you'll also do me the favor to forget the title."

Bill answered him with a shy smile of his own. "Aye, that I'll do… Edmund."

"Ahoy, you dogs! Where's my crew?" roared Jack, stalking angrily toward his cabin. "Gibbs! Where the hell – oh."

The first mate poked his head out of the cabin door, then gave a broad grin. "Cap'n! Took 'ee long enough. I was beginnin' to think ye was hung!"

Jack tilted his chin up with a cocky smile. "Well, I am." Gibbs looked scandalized, Will outright shocked. Edmund had to look away or disgrace himself by laughing aloud. Jack's eyes got big and innocent. "Oh, you mean the – er – " he mimicked the noose and gagged. "No, not this time. Where the hell's my crew?  


Gibbs stared at Bill. "Bootstrap, is that you, by all 'at's holy?"

The elder Turner rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Aye, Mr. Gibbs, 'tis, only I prefer to be just Bill, if ye don't mind."

Jack just folded his arms and looked at his mate. "My crew, Gibbs?"

Gibbs looked somewhat sheepish. "Er – Anamaria's gone to see her folk inland. Summat about one of their own's in trouble. You know them crazy feelin's she gets." 

Will shook his head. "Not so crazy, this time. Belle's been kidnapped – with Lizbet."

Gibbs' eyes grew wide, then narrowed. "An' ye've come fer the Pearl. I tell 'ee, Cap'n, I've a right good idea who might be behind it. Same mangy cur who's been sayin' he's you."

Jack's own eyes narrowed. "Gibbs," he said softly, "where's my crew?"

"Well, 'ee see, Cap'n, it's like this." Gibbs hunched his shoulders. "Wordgotaround'atyewerelookin'feranewcrewan'thecrewo'thePearlsortaupan'quit." 

It took all of them a moment to sort this through, and then Jack went up like fireworks. "THEY WHAT?"

Will looked bewildered. "His crew quit," translated Bill.

Gibbs nodded sadly. "Aye, all of 'em 'ceptin' me and Ana. I tol' em 'tweren't ye, but when men's in drink they'll believe anything." He brightened. "But now ye're here I expect we can get 'em back."

Jack curled his lip. "As if I'd want 'em."

Norrington, entertained as he was, felt bound to break in. "Er – gents – if I might remind us all, there's a child at stake. Can you not sort this out later?"

Jack looked chagrined and changed the subject. "Where do we find this imposter, Gibbs?"

The older man shrugged. "Never set eyes on 'im meself, Cap'n, else he'd be a problem no more, if ye take my meanin'. But the rumors been comin' out o' the Cochon D'Or."

Jack nodded, trying to stroke his beard before remembering it had been shorn. "Damn," he muttered sadly.

Norrington thought the next step rather obvious, and said so. "In that case I suggest we go to this Cochon D'Or of yours tonight, and see what we may see."

~*~

The pirates pretending to be Uncle Captain Jack and his crew were cleverer than Lizbet had thought, not letting them go through the streets of the town where Lizbet had thought maybe she might see someone from the Black Pearl. Instead they made them hurry through horrid marshy places that were muddy and slippery and smelt of dead things. Lizbet stumbled, once, and was jerked harshly to her feet. She blinked back tears and rubbed at her wrenched arm while Belle said a whole bunch more words Papa wouldn't like, a lot of them in French. Probably 'cos she'd run out of English words. Belle did that a lot. 

Lizbet sniffled and bit her lip, determined not to cry. Her arm was very sore and she was worried that Papa and Uncle Captain Jack might not know where to look for her now. There had been another sort of ship in the harbor that Lizbet recognized, one like the kind Godpapa sometimes took her on. She had wished very, very hard that he was on it, but nobody came.

She looked up at Belle, struggling along next to her. It had to be harder for her to walk than for Lizbet; Belle still had her hands tied. Those old pirates were definitely smarter than Lizbet had thought, 'cos if Belle had her hands free they'd be awful sorry.

"It will be well, little one," Belle said in French. "These pigs will be sorry when your papa comes to retrieve you."

Lizbet knew lots of French. Belle spoke it much better than she did English, and she often used it at home. 

"I have a sharp knife in my bodice," continued Belle, watching the pirates, "and I will use it to free us from these fools." Lizbet bit her lip again, very worried. When did Belle put a knife in her bodice, and why would she be silly enough to say so in front of the pirates? She was going to be in trouble now.

But the pirates didn't do anything except tell her to be quiet. Lizbet thought hard. Why wouldn't they take the knife away? Maybe… maybe they didn't know about it? She blinked, then hid a tiny smile. Maybe they didn't know French!

Stupid pirates.

~*~

Jack inhaled deeply when they entered the Cochon D'Or, a disreputable public house, seedy even by Tortuga standards. He grinned widely. It smelled of rum and wench, two of his favorite fragrances. He glanced over at Edmund and snickered. Clearly the Governor was a bit out of his depth.

Will was antsy, anyone could see that. Jack thought he'd better drop a word in his ear about that. Suspicion grew in taverns like mushrooms in a rotted log, and all they needed tonight was the distraction of a brawl to bring their precarious plans to nothing. Ah, no, Bill was getting them both a drink, gently urging his son to relax. Excellent man, Bill. Excellent pirate too.

A dark-haired strumpet with ample charms threaded her way through the tables toward them, her smile widening as she saw Jack. He smoothed his mustache complacently. Not perhaps the best of times to go a-whoring, but what could one do when one was irresistible? He'd let the lass down gently; she was an old favorite of his.

"Rose, my dove," he started smoothly; but then her blue eyes narrowed at his use of her name, and then widened as she twigged. Uh oh.

WHAM! 'Twas no measly slap, either, but a full-blown fist to the jaw, spinning the entire room around abruptly before depositing Jack on the sawdust-strewn floor. He remained there, out of range, gingerly checking with his tongue to see if any of his teeth were loose.

"Jack!" That was Edmund, all solicitude. Good man, Edmund.

"He probably deserved it," chorused the Turners from their table a short distance away. Jack shot them a look and allowed Edmund to pull him to his feet.

"He definitely deserved it," said the fair Rose, who was now sorting out the frills on her pale pink gown, with a smile for Will and an eye on Edmund. You had to admit, the lass knew Quality when she saw it, not that she'd have had much practice in a den of iniquity like this. Jack shook his head, hoping to dislodge the ringing in his ears.

For her part the wench dimpled at Norrington and curtseyed, by God! "My apologies for the mess, my lord. What may I get ye to drink?"

Edmund blinked. Jack understood. The man had clearly never met one like this before.

"Ale, if you please, miss." 

Jack rolled his eyes. Norrington had said 'please'. To a wench. In a pub in Tortuga. Politeness never paid; now the crumpet would be stuck to them like a burr all night. She curtseyed again and began wiping off a table nearby, but Edmund gently touched her arm with one finger. "One moment, miss." Jack's eyebrows were like to climb up off his forehead when Norrington produced a coin. A gold one.

Rose smiled, slowly, her lips curling like the ribbon on a package of bon bons. "Aye, my lord?" she breathed, leaning in. Edmund looked down. So did Jack. Well, who wouldn't, with that horizon on view?

Edmund cleared his throat. Twice. "Er – I wonder if you'd mind keeping it to yourself about our friend here," he nodded at Jack. "Don't want to start any trouble, if you understand me." And then the Governor winked. At a wench. In a pub in Tortuga. Jack wondered how Beelzebub was enjoying the frost.

Rose's smile grew somehow wider and her bodice somehow snugger, causing her accoutrements to swell to an eye-popping degree. "If ye wish, my lord. Anything… else?"

Norrington reddened. "Oh. Um. Er. No, thank you." Jack sighed gustily. By the Lord Harry, he'd done it a second time. 

He waved a hand between the now-besotted Rose and Norrington, whose expression had gone slightly glazed. "Drinks?" Jack interjected to the maid, his tone slightly irritated. Rose turned that death's-head glare on him again, and then turned on her heel and went to the bar, nose in the air.

~*~

Lizbet pressed her little nose to the barred window, trying to see the guard outside their door. "Oui, Belle, I can see him," she sang in French, to a nursery tune. "He's coming."

Belle sang back. "Good, ma petite. You know what to do."

And she did. Lizbet bit her tongue in concentration, raising her hand. Belle waited at the door.

They'd discovered several more things, she and Belle, since being locked in this shed earlier that afternoon. One was that the pirates had something else to do, and were leaving only a few guards to watch them. The other, and Belle said the most important, was that the pirates didn't really think Lizbet and Belle were brave enough to try to escape. 

They had tried to help them think so. Lizbet had cried for her Papa, which was sort of pretend and sort of not. Belle had cried too, and pretended to beg them to let her go. The stupid pirates had laughed. Lizbet hated people who laughed when little girls were crying.

But Belle said it meant they thought she and Lizbet were too scared to try to run away. Ha, thought Lizbet. Sucks boo to you.

The guard was balancing a tray of food in one hand and reaching for the door with the other. Lizbet waited. Belle had said 'timing was crucial', which meant she had to wait 'til she was sure he'd grasped the knob…


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but having an unexpected organ removal and a week in the hospital will delay anybody. This is short, but I figured something was better than nothing, for all of you who are waiting patiently… Oh, and this is supposed to be littered with French patois, at least when Belle is thinking to herself. I did my best, anyway.

Wait For No Man

Chapter 8

There was a 'thunk' as the pirate lifted the bar on the shed door, and then… Belle eyed her young charge. _Wait, ma petite…_

Then Lizbet's hand dropped in the prearranged signal. Belle grasped the handle on their side of the door and pulled with all her might, jerking the unsuspecting pirate into the room completely by surprise. Belle neatly tripped him, sending food, tray, and pitcher flying from his grasp. Before he could do much else she'd snatched up the heavy pottery pitcher and brought it down as hard as she could on the back of his unprotected head, breaking the pitcher into stony chunks and causing the pirate to go limp on the floor.

Belle nodded at young Lizbet, who quickly closed the door behind the sprawling man so no one from the main house would see. The pirates had intimated that there would be but a few of them on guard this evening; they had something else to do of great import. Having heard that the Black Pearl sat in port, what else could it mean but that le Capitaine Jacques was near, and of a possibility le bon Papa Turner also? If only there were some way to warn them…

But Belle's charge was in front of her, staring at the unconscious man with wide, dark eyes. Best to get la petite to safety, then worry about the men. Belle reached under her skirt and removed her petticoat, tearing it into wide strips with her teeth and hands. 

Lizbet watched quietly. La jeune fille had much spirit, Belle thought. Sa père had always said la pauvre petite's maman had had such a soul, fearless and true. He had told Belle that la mère had saved his life, and that of the Capitaine Jacques. Clearly la petite had inherited the character of her pauvre maman.

She finished tying and gagging the filthy pirate chien and sat back on her heels to admire her handiwork. "See how you like it," she muttered. After appropriating the pirate's sheathed knife, pistol, and shot, Belle rose, holding out a hand to Lizbet. "Come, child," she said softly.

Lizbet looked up at her. "Where are we going, Belle?"

Belle smiled. "You don't fear, lamb. Old Belle, she grew up on Tortuga. I takes you to my people; there is safety there. And then I finds your Papa for you." She closed the shed door behind her carefully, making sure the bar was down, and then the pair fled softly into the lengthening shadows, toward the center of the island.

They moved as quickly as they could, little Lizbet making not a sound of complaint. Just a few more minutes and they would be swallowed up by the thick forest... A shout came from behind them. Belle bit out an epithet. "Sooner than I t'ought," she whispered. "Up you come, child." Lizbet reached up both arms and Belle lifted her, wrapping the child close, using her shawl as a sort of sling. She tied it snugly around her neck and waist and Lizbet laced her fingers together around Belle's shoulders, her little face pressed trustingly into her nanny's throat.

"Ready," she whispered back, and Belle began to run.

She glanced at the darkened sky through the branches overhead and made a mental calculation, veering slightly more north, toward the deepest part of the forest, nodding grimly to herself as the terrain began to look familiar.

More shouting; a pistol shot whined past. Belle dared not look back, clutching the trembling child closer to her and choosing her footing with speed born of long familiarity. Another shot, this time followed by a burning in her thigh. Belle stumbled, but caught herself, dodging behind a tree and leaning against it, her breath coming fast. She shook Lizbet gently. "Child? You is well?" Lizbet nodded against her throat.

Belle groped at her own leg, coming up with blood. Another grim nod, and she groped in her bodice for a small, cloth bag that hung around her neck. Saying a quick prayer to her gros bon ange, Belle wiped the blood on the bag. _Bon_, she thought. That should gain the attention of the Loa.

A breeze shook the night woods as a cloud rolled across the face of the moon.

~*~

Anamaria sat quietly and folded her arms around her knees, watching the old woman potter around the crackling fire. The woman moved quickly and surely, though Anamaria knew she was sightless, sprinkling the cornmeal at the base of the poteau-mitan, creating a powerful veve for protection. 

A breeze drifted through the hounfour, and the elderly woman lifted her head sharply, her wrinkled face attentive, her blind eyes wide and milky-white. "The Loa is gatherin'," she said, her voice dry and thin, like an old twig. "They been summoned, and not by this." She gestured at the complicated patterns of the veve.

Anamaria sat up. "By what then, Maman?"

Maman turned toward her. "Trouble, child. Trouble."

~*~

Her breath was coming harsher now, but Belle limped doggedly on, holding her precious bundle close to her heart. The clouded moon had helped by obscuring the deepest pockets of marshy forest, and Belle clung close to the places she had known as a child, often closing her eyes and letting her faltering feet guide her. Their pursuers had passed her more than once, and she ducked her mouth under the cover of the shawl to keep her panting from being heard.

The moon cleared and Belle glanced down at the trusting child in her arms. Lizbet's eyes were huge and dark in the weird half-light that filtered through the swags of moss that hung from the trees; her hair was damp with sweat, clinging to her forehead and cheeks in little ducktails. Still no sound did the child make, and Belle pressed her lips to her charge's forehead, whispering a soundless plea for protection.

More footsteps echoed from the darkness, a long, loping step, not the hesitant splashing and cursing of the pirates. Belle tilted her head. The sounds slowed, drew closer, and stopped. The low call of an owl resonated nearby, like water dropping into a deep well.

Belle smiled and pursed her lips, giving an answering call.

From the darkness loomed a shape, small and wary. An errant shaft of moonlight fell across glossy black hair; a heart-shaped face; wide, intelligent eyes.

"Anamaria," Belle breathed.

The younger woman nodded. "Maman sent me. Come; the houngan will lead them away from you." Belle stumbled forward; Lizbet whimpered. Anamaria's eyes grew round. "What have you – " She reached forward and uncovered the child's dark head. "Mon Dieu." Ana looked from the tot to Belle. "Here, give her to me and we will talk back at the camp." She smiled at Lizbet. "Come to me and let ma cousine Belle rest a bit, will you, little one?" Lizbet hesitated, then nodded and reached for Anamaria.

The way grew easier then, as Ana led them quickly through dark pockets of marsh and woods. Far in the distance behind them Belle could hear the pirates searching fruitlessly for their escaped prisoners. She smiled to herself in grim satisfaction. Pierre, the tribe's young houngan, would lead them far from the temple and encampment, and abandon them deep in the swamp. _Let him, then_, she thought. Leave them to the mercies of Dambala, the serpent Loa. 

If indeed any mercy was to be had.

~*~

They'd had to cut the bullet out.

Maman had done it herself, and cauterized the wound with fire from the poteau-mitan. Ana had watched and held her cousin's hand as Belle fought not to cry out and frighten the exhausted Lizbet. The wee child had fallen asleep in Maman's tent, clutching Belle's shawl in one dirty fist, while Maman made the preparations for healing. But before Belle had drunk the entire potion the old mambo had concocted, they had had the entire story of the child's kidnapping from her, along with Belle's theory that Captain Sparrow might have returned to Tortuga.

Ana smiled to herself. Jack had said he'd be back. Ana had had no doubt that he would be, regardless of what the rest of the crew were saying. And if he had come in search of the child, certainly young Turner would not be far. Therefore, the sensible course would be to leave the child and Belle in the capable hands of Maman and Pierre and the others, and go in search of Jack Sparrow.

She found Maman outside by the embers of the fire, creating another veve at the foot of the poteau-mitan, and though Anamaria was no student of the old ways, she knew enough to recognize that this veve was not for healing. The dead cockerel at her feet was mute testament to the powers Maman sought to stir up.

Ana waited until the old mambo had finished her ritual. "Are you going to summon a spirit to protect the child, Maman?" she couldn't help asking.

Maman grinned, her lips stretching across her toothless mouth, her whitened eyes nearly disappearing into the wrinkles of her face. "No, child. The spirit, she is already here, always has been." She poured what Ana recognized as blood into a wooden goblet. "We jus' gonna give her some ammunition."

Ana turned her head as Maman drank.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: Back on track, I think.

Wait For No Man

Chapter 9

"How many did you say there were?"

The false Jack Sparrow bowed slightly. "Four. We saw only the four."

His employer stood silhouetted in high relief against the darkened window, beyond which lay the abandoned fields of the Tortugan plantation. Beyond that, a high cliff which had been carved into the soft land by the restless waters of the Caribbean. "Turner, Sparrow, Norrington… and the fourth?"

"Word down the docks is that Bootstrap Bill Turner's come back from the grave." The pirate shifted uneasily, looking around the room as he spoke. Cobwebs and dust infested the mildewed walls and rotted furniture; in the eerie moonlit half-light it was sepulchral. The pirate shivered.

"In… deed. Young William's father, back from the dead." There was a quick flash of teeth as the speaker chuckled. "Well. I wonder if that's a trick he can do more than once." Another chuckle, low and full and polluted with hate. The pirate took an inadvertent step back.

He gave a halfhearted laugh, more out of deference than anything else. "I can find out for ye."

"No." The response was short, bitten off. "You will bring them to me. And find the child." A nonchalant hand fluttered in the air. "You may do what you wish with the nurse, as long as I am not subjected to the no doubt disgusting details."

The pirate bobbed in another bow, shuffling backward out of the room.

"And… 'Jack'?" The speaker's voice was silky and filled with mirth, causing a horrible ripple of uneasiness deep in the pirate's belly.

"Aye?"

"If this time you come to me with a tale of having killed against my orders, you will take the dead man's place." Again that low, terrifying chuckle. "Savvy?"

The pirate swallowed. "Aye." This time he made it out of the room, wiping a shaking hand over his mouth and whiskers as mounting laughter followed him down the hall.

~*~

"This is a bloody useless exercise." Will slammed down his pint with a frown. "Every minute, nay, every second that slips by takes my Lizbet farther away from me." He made as if to get up from the bench, but Bill put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Think a minute, boy," he said, not unkindly. "The ransom demand tells us they don't mean t' harm the wee lass, even if they don't intend t' collect. If they was out t' murder, the child'd be in the arms of Heaven by now, and the note'd be of no use. They either mean t' collect the ransom, or stall us off fer a bit. Either way there's no reason t' think they've any notion we've got this far in finding the dog who's taken Jack's name. Blind luck, that were; but then Jack's had the luck of ol' Scratch 'imself, 's long 's I've knowed him." Bill took a judicious swig. "You watch, now. Jack's put out the word. There're still some in Tortuga loyal t' Jack Sparrow. Something'll turn up."

The door of the Cochon D'Or swung open to admit a youngish woman, dark skinned and doe eyed, her long black hair wild as if from running. 

Will blinked. "Something's turned up all right." The woman scanned the crowd and caught sight of the blacksmith, weaving easily through the crowded room to seat herself next to him. Will sighed, dreading telling the lady pirate about her cousin's predicament. Best to get it overwith. "I've got bad news, Ana – "

She laid two fingers across his mouth. "Hush, boy. I know." Ana looked around uneasily. "There's trouble in the wind tonight, Will. We should go quickly." She gave Bill a suspicious look.

"My father," was Will's cursory introduction. "Go where, Ana?"

She leaned forward; both Turners did the same. Ana's voice was barely audible. "I've found something that belongs to you."

Will felt his skin go hot, then cold, then hot again. "Are you – is she – ?" He bit his lip to keep from shrieking his daughter's name aloud. Ana nodded at him, the look in her dark eyes sympathetic. "Thank God," he breathed. His hands were shaking, so he gripped them tightly together. "Where?"

"I'll take you." She scanned the room again, frowning. "We should go now, Will, before—"

This time the door slammed off its hinges, causing the more sober patrons of the Cochon to scatter. In the doorway stood a pirate. 

Not just any pirate. _The_ pirate. 

Will stared. Had he not known for certain that Jack sat next to Edmund a short distance away… the beads, the hat, the scarf, the forked beard, the dark-rimmed eyes, it was all there.

"Uh oh," muttered Bill. 

Will swiveled in his seat; and there was the real Jack, snarling, unsheathing his blade, kicking over a table to clear his way. Behind the 'Jack' at the door were suddenly a dozen or more rogues, filthy and mean. Edmund removed a pink-clad tart from his lap and got to his feet as well, drawing his sword. Instinctively Will reached for his own sword; his father's hand stopped him. 

"Get 'ee to the child, Will." Bill pulled free his lethal-looking cutlass. "This be a matter for pirates." With that he took the bottle that sat between them and smashed it on the edge of the table, brandishing the glittering shard left in his other hand.

Jack leveled his blade at the imposter. "You scabrous, filthy son-of-a-whore! Draw your weapon! NOW!"

The false Jack grinned, looking over 'Lord John Finch' insolently. "Now, now, me fine ponce. Ye sure ye want to be doin' that, challengin' Jack Sparrow?"

Jack bared his teeth. "That's CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow!" he howled, and leapt to the attack.

Metal clanged on metal as the two Jacks met. Three of the other toughs rushed Edmund abreast; the Governor propelled the bench he'd lately occupied with one strong shove of his foot, and the bench slid hard into the knees of the three, toppling them like so many tenpins.

Bill leapt over two drunks and a chair to land at the Governor's side, and the two instinctively went back-to-back as the rest of the pirates ran at them, hollering all the way. A blade came down at Bill's head; he caught it neatly with the broken bottle and made a slash with his cutlass across his opponent's midsection. That pirate leapt back barely in time to avoid being cloven in twain. 

At Bill's back, Edmund dodged a strike from his attacker and immediately trapped the man's sword with his own, holding it to the ground while with the other hand he produced a fine and resounding left cross to the face. Will heard the crack as the brigand's head snapped back, hard, and the rogue staggered a few steps backward, clutching at the place where his nose had turned to a red and soaking sponge. Another pirate leapt into his place.

Bill planted a foot in another assailant's face and shouted to his son over the reeling body. "GO!" 

Anamaria tugged hard on Will's arm, and he reluctantly followed her into a back room. She dove through the single window there, Will on her heels, and together they ran hard for the wooded end of the road.

Neither of them saw the figure that detached itself from the shadows and loped after them.

~*~

The Cochon was clearing out, even the drunks realizing that this was no place to be. The fighting skills of Captain Jack Sparrow were legendary; but Jack Sparrow in a towering fury was nigh mythical.

And a fury he was in, no doubt about that. Bill had only ever seen him this angry once, as the Pearl left her captain stranded on a deserted beach sixteen years ago; and even from that distance the sight had been impressive.

Cold metal whistled past his ear; surprised, Bill spun and struck out with the bottle, hitting the pirate across the face and throat. His quarry staggered back with a rattling scream, trying vainly to keep the blood in his body with clutching hands. 

__

Best keep yer thoughts on yer own hide, Bill me boy. Ye're not immortal no more. A pair of arms grasped him from behind, lifting him off the floor; Bill snapped his head back, skull meeting bone with a satisfying crunch. His attacker dropped him with a roar, and Bill landed catlike on his feet, turning to slash at the thug. 

Bill looked about wildly for Edmund, finding the Governor a distance away, not far from the door, fighting off several rogues by himself. Bill cursed and ran at the group but was stopped by a pair of cutthroats who leapt in his way, blades agleam in the flickering pub light. With a snarl, he brought the cutlass through underhand, aggressively blocking both blows. As he forced their blades up and away, he followed through with the bottle, raking both pirates with the sharp glass shards.

The two Jacks had made their way to the top of the bar, slipping and sliding in spilled rum as they fought, teeth bared, black hair flying. Jack made a vicious parry and lunge, forcing the false Jack to slam into the wall at the end of the bar. The wall shuddered; a lantern fell to the bar, igniting the rum pooling there. Jack jumped back, feet over head, landing hard but true as not only the false Jack but several of his compatriots ran forward to engage him anew.

And then there was a shout. "Oy! Captain! Look 'ee what Oi has here!"

A deafening silence fell. Bill looked around: Jack had frozen in place, staring toawrd the door. Bewildered, Bill followed Jack's gimlet gaze, his confusion followed hard by horror.

Edmund stood captive in the doorway of the pub, a brigand's knife held close to his throat; so close, Bill could see a thin line of red already staining the blade. Bill realized with growing dread that the governor's arms were trapped, cruelly twisted up behind his back, by the owner of the blade. 

"So, mate," panted the false Jack, resting the tip of his blade at the center of Jack's collarbone. "Do we kill 'im, or do ye surrender?"

Jack's sword clattered to the ground as Edmund bared his teeth in a snarl. Bill hesitated; the pirate holding Edmund pressed the blade closer, and a trickle of blood ran smoothly down the Governor's neck.

"Bill!" barked Jack, his gaze never wavering from the captive.

"Aye, Jack," said Bill heavily, and he dropped the cutlass. Immediately his arms were jerked behind him, trussed there like a Sunday turkey. Jack was already tied securely, the false Jack chuckling in glee.

The pirates at Bill's side hustled him forward a step or two, and then Bill caught something out of the corner of his eye: the faintest gleam of pink behind the captive Governor.

There was a loud crash from the doorway. With a roar Bill bowled himself into his captors as the pirate holding Edmund summarily disappeared, replaced by the surprised and frightened countenance of the crumpet in rose who'd taken a fancy to the Governor, a broken rum bottle in her hand. And then she jerked Edmund away into the darkness.

"Get him!" cried the false Jack Sparrow. "Stop hi—" But the rest of his orders were drowned in a howl of pain as Jack planted a booted foot firmly in his manhood.

Bill exchanged a look with his captain, and the two began to fight as well as they could, requiring all of the false Jack's resources to keep them captive. Bill took a hard fist in the gullet for his trouble, and another across his face; but he smiled though the blood. His son was free, and the Governor. They still had a chance.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: 'Fun with Edmund', this time.

Wait For No Man

Chapter 9

It wasn't until Rose was trying to urge him to climb over a split rail fence behind the inn that Edmund gathered his wits enough to speak. "I must go back!"

"Please, my lord, this is not the time." Rose sighed in obvious frustration, grasped Edmund's behind in both hands, and shoved, succeeding in surprising him enough that he mounted the first rail. "You've no weapon, and there are too many of them for you to take on alone. Hurry!"

"But my friends are in trouble. I must – " 

Rose took a step back, fisted her hands on her hips, and huffed out an impatient breath. "I don't have time for this," she muttered, pushing up her sleeves. She lowered one shoulder and quickly slid it under his rear elevation, heaving him up and over like a sack of potatoes, swiftly hiking her skirts and following him over the rail.

Edmund landed on the other side with a soft squelch, Rose landing on his lap. A wet, pink, mud-encrusted snout presented itself in Edmund's ear with a loud snort. The Governor flinched aside with a loud yelp. The pig gave a series of small snorts which, had Edmund not known that it was impossible for animals to laugh… He looked at the creature suspiciously.

Rose stared at him, clearly annoyed. "Beggin' your pardon in advance, I'm sure," she hissed, "but shut your bloody cakehole! My lord," she added in an obvious afterthought. "Come on." The slim woman dragged Norrington to his feet, his bottom making a sucking noise as the mud let free, and led him to the very back of the sty. "Sit," she commanded, giving him a hearty shove in the middle of his chest for good measure.

Edmund sat.

Rose plopped down next to him, giving him a critical eye. She made a clucking sound and took up a handful of mud, smearing it over the astonished Governor's face and white shirt, and then over herself. "Soooeee, pig, pig, peeeg!" she whispered. For a wonder, the pigs obeyed, lumbering over to the pair in the corner curiously. The boar, a huge creature, began to sniff Edmund rather thoroughly with an air of misgiving, finally placing his large wet snout where one male animal would most naturally be interested in investigating a possible rival male animal.

"Eep," said Edmund in a strangled voice, trying vainly to roll one way or the other. He was further nonplussed to feel a warm hand cup itself over the offended region. Rose gave the questing pig a smack on the snout with her other hand. "Stop that, Jack. He's nothing for the likes of you there."

The boar all but shrugged in disdain, turning his back on the pair and laying his massive bulk down in front of them with Rose's encouragement.

The sounds of the chase echoed down the alley that led to the sty; Norrington froze. He watched with an air of detachment and some disbelief as several of the pirates raced down the alley past them, casting only the most cursory of glances at the pigsty.

They waited for several moments after the last pirate had gone by; then Norrington took a shaky breath. Beside him, Rose gave a small ghost of a chuckle. 

"What?" he asked quietly.

"Wasn't sure that would work, actually," she admitted.

Edmund relaxed against the wall at his back. "The boar is named Jack?"

Rose dimpled at him through the mud on her face. "Aye. I had the naming of him myself." Edmund gave a snort of laughter, then went to get up, which brought something else to his immediate notice. He cleared his throat, embarrassed.

"Er – Miss Rose?"

"Mm?" She was still looking up at him with a saucy smile, leaving Edmund in no doubt that she was fully aware of his – um – discomfiture.

"Your – er – hand?"

Rose gave a low chuckle and removed her hand from Edmund's nethers. "Forgive me, my lord. I was that nervous, I never noticed what I was doing."

Edmund looked down at her skeptically. "Of course," was all he said, offering her a hand to help her to her feet.

~*~

The pirates sent to retrieve the Governor had returned, unsuccessful. Jack smiled grimly to himself. Now if Edmund and Will could manage to stop themselves from suicidal heroics, perhaps one of them might live to save the wee lass.

In the meantime, he'd been keeping his ears and eyes open, and several things had presented themselves to his notice. One, that the imposter Jack was nervous. Very, very nervous. And that was interesting.

More interesting was that as the band of rogues he'd sent after Edmund returned without their quarry, the false Jack went from nervous to downright panicked. Jack chewed that over. The inescapable conclusion was that having missed Norrington would result in consequences for the imposter. Unpleasant consequences. 

But nobody would punish themselves, unless they were sick, sad bastards. Which, Jack mentally acknowledged, might be the case; but if true, the son-of-a-whore would be looking forward to the punishment, Jack reckoned, and not like a dog about to be shot.

All of which led naturally to the idea that this Jack, whoever he was, was acting for someone else.

And that was very interesting.

~*~

"Miss Rose, I must protest! I have to find my friends! Even now they could be in mortal danger," Edmund expostulated, shivering slightly in his skivvies as the cool night air hit the skin of his bare torso. The window of the room Rose inhabited on the upper floor of the Cochon had neither glass nor shade to keep out the chill sea breezes. The room itself was spare to the point of poverty: a large iron bedstead with a straw-filled mattress and a single clean blanket, a wardrobe, and a fireplace were all the amenities it had to recommend it in the usual course of things. At the moment, a large tin washtub had been set up in front of the fire and sat there, gently steaming.

A newly tidy Rose nodded as she bundled up his filthy shirt and breeches. "Aye, I do know it, and the sentiment does you credit, my lord. But the truth of the matter is there's no trail to be followed until the light of dawn, and in the meantime you have wounds for me to tend to."

Edmund looked down at himself. "Scratches merely; nothing of concern."

Rose looked at him with that hands-on-her-hips thing again. "And a scratch is enough to carry you off if it becomes septic and poisons your blood."

He raised his brows. "Why should it do that? I am in excellent health."

She dimpled, looking him up and down. "Robust, I'd say." Norrington blushed as the wench went on. "You'll forgive me for mentioning it, my lord, but I'm as sure as certain that you've not spent much time wallowing in pig shit before, and there's nothing so fertile for blood poisoning. Now do stop arguing and get your hide into that bath."

He grumbled mulishly even as he complied, stepping behind the screen Rose had thoughtfully set up for him. "I'm in," he called, and she came around the screen, armed with a crock of good brown soap and a large sponge. "I'm perfectly capable of bathing myself," Edmund protested as she began to lather the sponge.

Rose shot him an acid look. "Never a bright child, were you, my lord? I'll tell it you again: I can see far better than you can whether the cuts are clean, in particular yon nasty one on your neck."

It was a losing battle, Edmund knew, but he wasn't ready to fly the white flag yet. "Any English physician will tell you that cleaning a cut opens it to infestation."

She laughed. "And nor they've been in pig shit neither, I'll wager. Moreover," Edmund opened his mouth to interrupt Rose, who threatened with a gesture to fill his mouth with suds, "what 'any English physician' knows isn't worth a row of pins as compared to Maman. And I'll back Maman every time, even to bringing back the dead."

The soapy sponge was still clutched in Rose's hand, but Edmund chanced it. "Who is Maman? Your mother?"

Rose giggled. "Not at all. She is the high priestess of the Vodoun tribe as lives deep in the marsh. Not a woman you want to fall afoul of, Maman, though I can't see why you ever would. Maman would like you, with your polite and noble ways."

He found it difficult to excite the appropriate enthusiasm for this statement, but Rose didn't seem to care, bending closer to get to the small of his back, giving Edmund quite an eyeful. He smiled and shrugged. If he couldn't be out rescuing Jack and Bill, he might as well enjoy the view.

~*~

The marsh was darker than the new moon at sea. Will could hardly see Ana ahead of him, leading the way to her people, her feet sure, fast and silent. The breeze at his back was warm, almost urging him forward; it carried the scent of roses on the air. Not the profuse red ramblers his mother had favored, that twined over their small cottage at the quayside in Bristol; rather the delicate pink beach roses that Elizabeth had loved so much. She'd carried them at their wedding, he recalled, and they'd lain on the petals that night…

A hiss from Ana brought him abruptly to the present. "We're being followed. Damn it!"

"Are you sure?"

For answer the lady pirate nodded and grimaced. "Certain sure. Give me a thirty second head start, and then you go due east to the big caoba tree. Head to starboard, follow the stream." He nodded, and Ana loped off silently.

Will counted slowly to thirty, then glanced at what he could see of the night sky, getting his bearings, setting off due east.

The caoba tree was huge, unmistakable even if he hadn't known that caoba was the Caribbean word for mahogany. Such a massive trunk… it would take four, maybe five men to embrace it. Will frowned. Caobas didn't grow that large normally.

The stream was as eerily quiet as the rest of the marshland, but he could see it glinting in the moonlight. Will turned and headed upstream.

The quiet began to grate on his nerves somewhat. Where the hell were all the bugs? And birds, and bats… was there no life at all in this godforsaken place?

The flicker of a campfire in the distance caught his eye. Surely that was his destination. Will hurried his steps.

He slowed his approach as he neared the encampment, scanning the area. In the center of the clearing was a huge pole, as big around as his thigh and easily as tall as the Governor's two-story foyer. Next to that was the fire, burning hotter than Will would have imagined in this place of rot and damp. An old woman moved quietly around the fire, scattering something on the ground, though what it was Will was unable to make out. There were a few other people about, notably a youngish dark-skinned man, dressed in a white tunic. The old woman's dress was white also, and the turban that sat atop her head. 

As he watched, two other men in more usual dress brought out a litter, on which lay a woman, dark-skinned like the others but in European clothing, with a white apron… Belle! Will nearly shouted her name aloud and started forward, but then the old woman started to dance.

Drums sounded an eldritch rhythm; Will could feel the small hairs on the back of his neck start to rise as the old one bobbed and weaved, now raising her hands to the sky, now crying out unintelligible words in a dry and raspy voice. Belle moaned softly. The man in white went to her, raising her head and helping her to drink from a simple wooden vessel. Belle coughed, causing some of the liquid to spill down her front, which stained her apron a deep red color.

Blood, thought Will, horrified. Belle's back arched then, a violent spasm twisted her body as she turned away from Will's vantage point, retching. The others leapt up to dance then, their moves jerky and uncontrolled, wild and abandoned. 

A scented wind swept through the trees past Will, causing the fire to leap madly and seem to spiral up the pole; and as suddenly, the dancing and drums halted.

The old lady took a few steps in Will's direction, and now he could see the terrible blind whiteness of her eyes.

"Come, young master," she said, her dry chuckle falling sinisterly on Will's ears. "We has somethin' of yours. You come an' get it."


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: If I told you what has been going on to delay this, you'd all think I made it up. Anyhow, here it goes, and hopefully nothing else of a disastrous nature will intervene. *glares at Supreme Being* Oh, and review, please. Think of it as inspiration for a weary author.

Wait For No Man

Chapter 11

Will pulled his sword from his belt and stepped forward. "I'll kill anyone who comes between me and my daughter," he said quietly, brandishing the blade under the old lady's chin.

She cackled. "Save your fierceness for them who deserve it, boy. The child is safe here."

Ana burst out of the brush and ran to pull the old lady back a few steps. "Have you gone daft, Will?" she spat out angrily.

He faltered slightly in the face of her fury, the point of his sword wavering. "They are summoning evil here; I saw them," he said, less sure of himself now.

"Huh." Ana knocked his blade aside and confronted him, fists on hips. "What is it you think you saw, then?"

Will blinked at the vehemence in her voice, a tone she generally reserved for her captain. "I – she – " he gestured to the blind crone, "she was dancing and shouting incantations to the Devil, and they made poor Belle drink blood, and then – " A shout of laughter from the group by the fire interrupted him. "It's true!" Will insisted angrily. "I know what I saw!"

The old woman cackled again. "What you saw and what you know is two different things, boy. Aye, we danced, and called out our prayers."

Will nodded vehemently. "Aye, to the Devil himself."

The crone folded her arms. "And did you hear me call the evil one?"

"N-no. I couldn't understand the words, but –"

Ana rolled her eyes. "We dance in celebration, and to lose ourselves in our devotion to the spirits of our ancestors and to our God." She shook her head in disgust. "What harm can a dance do? Your people dance. Do you raise evil?"

Will rubbed the back of his neck, feeling faintly foolish. "No, of course not." Then he remembered something. "What about the blood they forced Belle to drink?"

"Forced?" The crone was indignant. " 'Twas a tea only, made red from the hibiscus flower. Belle is in pain and there is much healing in my teas. I don' force nobody."

Will blinked. "But she retched…"

Ana threw up her hands. "An' have you never retched yourself, then? Bring up evil spirits, did you? No?" She sighed. "Belle was shot trying to save the child. Maman was trying to make her more comfortable only, but there is a fever."

Will slowly lowered his sword to the ground, then sheathed it. "Forgive me, please," he said to the old crone, who tilted her head toward him like a bird. "You have done me a great service and I have repaid you with suspicion."

"Handsomely said, boy," replied Maman as Ana detached herself from the group and went to a tent on the edge of the circle. "There is nothin' to forgive. You protect the child; there is no wrong in that. I do the same. We just has different ways." 

Beyond Maman, Ana came out of the tent carrying a small figure in ragged boy's clothing, head resting sleepily on Ana's shoulder. Will sagged in relief, his legs refusing to hold him as he went to his knees and held his arms wide.

The tot knuckled her eyes and yawned as Ana put her down. "Papa?" Will nodded, knowing words wouldn't fit past the lump in his throat. Lizbet blinked at him, her eyes huge and dark. "You were a long time coming, Papa," she said reproachfully.

He nodded again, clearing his throat. "I know, love. I'm sorry." And all of a sudden she flew into his arms, nearly throttling him with a tight grip around his neck and waist. Will held her tightly to him, blinking back tears as he buried his face in her honey-blond hair.

"Did they hurt you, little one?"

She nodded. "My head has a cut on it. And I fell down one time and the stupid pirate who thinks he's Uncle Captain Jack hurt my arm. They hurt Belle worse, though." She sniffled a little. "Is she going to be all right? Is Godpapa hurt?"

Ana bent to Will's ear. "I don't mean to cut your reunion short, but 'tis time to go," she said quietly.

Will hoisted his daughter and got to his feet. "What is it?"

Ana gestured toward the forest. "The one following us – I chased him for a bit, but I lost him. You need to get back to the Pearl."

"Aye." Will nodded to Maman and the rest of the tribe. "Thank you doesn't go half far enough," he said. "I am in your debt." 

Maman patted Lizbet's cheek. "You don't fear, child. There is still trouble to come, maybe, but you don't fear. You has a gros bon ange – a guardian angel – so it all come right in the end. All right?"

Lizbet nodded solemnly and then laid her head on her father's shoulder, and Will followed Ana into the pitch black of the forest.

~*~

"And this is what I get for spending the last three years keeping me nose clean," said Jack disgustedly. "Can you move your hands?"

Bill rolled his eyes. "Fer th' twentieth time, Jack, no. Nor anythin' else."

Jack huffed out a sigh. "No more can I." 

"I know that." Bill's tone was long-suffering. 

The two old comrades were lashed back to back, their hands and feet trussed securely. Jack made a mental note never to eat Christmas goose again, out of sheer fellow-feeling.

"Ye make a good case fer that cur t' be working fer someone," Bill went on after a moment. "Who d'ye reckon?"

"Been wondering that," said Jack with a truncated shrug. "But as I say, I've kept me nose clean, been a privateer for his Majesty these last years. I can't think of anybody I've offended this deeply, other than Norrington, and that was years ago."

"He seems to've got over it," said Bill dryly.

Jack snorted. "Aye." He eyed the room they occupied more closely. "Bill, can you brace your feet against that wall?"

"I can," said Bill, and did. "What fer?"

"If I brace mine as well, we can climb up the wall together," said Jack, suiting action to words. He tried a few steps, wriggling his feet within the confines of the rope that bound them.

"So we can, but I'm at a bit of a loss as to why we'd want to. An' it's mighty slow goin'," Bill said when they'd worked their way up a few inches.

Jack thought quickly. "If we get far enough up and out of sight, when they come back they'll think we've gone and come in the room to check. We'll be able to get the key and escape."

Bill seemed to be thinking that over. "I see two flaws in yer plan, Jack, if ye don't mind me sayin' so."

"Flaws?" Jack was indignant. He worked his way up a few more inches. "What flaws?"

"Well, first of all ye seem t' be assumin' the rogues 'r comin' back, and we've no real assurance of that, nor of when. 'N strong as ye are I don' think either man of us can hold this position fer long."

"Oh fine," replied Jack irritatedly. "Anything else?"

"Well, there is the minor question of what we're s'posed t' do to the gents when they come a-racin' in the room, seein' as we're trussed up like so much plucked fowl," Bill went on. "Did 'ee see us droppin' on 'em like manna from heaven, or what?"

Jack snorted. " 'Twill come to me. You forget, Bill, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?"

"Oh, aye," said Bill sardonically. "But I'm not."

~*~

"So." The false Jack's employer leaned across the dust-covered desk, fury evident in a pair of baneful dark eyes. "I asked for four, you bring me two. Tell, me, 'Jack'… are you an optimist or a pessimist?"

'Jack' shifted uncomfortably on his feet, glancing nervously at his mates. "How's that again?"

"Uneducated cretin." The speaker came around from behind the desk, looking the row of pirates up and down. "Which of you was it that allowed Norrington to escape me?"

Here was a question 'Jack' could understand. "That be Grotty, there." He nodded at the rogue in question, a particularly filthy specimen who bobbed obsequiously. " 'Tweren't entirely Grotty's fault. That there tart, Rose, she brained him with a rum bottle. Full, too," 'Jack' added sadly.

His employer looked the unkempt Grotty over, upper lip curling. "I take it you are using the word 'brained' euphemistically." At this, Grotty nodded enthusiastically, and the other sighed. "Deplorable."

'Jack' cleared his throat. "I sent Gunner t' follow young Turner. We'll have him and the lass before dawn, sir, I swear it."

"Young Turner." The speaker smiled, picking up a half-empty bottle from the desk and twirling it in his long fingers. "I recall a time when he was nothing more than that, when he knew his place in the world. When he would never have dared to look upon my – " The neck of the bottle snapped, lacerating the speaker's fingers, but he did not seem to notice the blood that dripped to the floor. "Jack Sparrow taught him differently, and for that…" He chuckled. "For that infraction I have taken everything from him. Including, soon, his life." 

He smeared bloody fingers across his sleeve, looking at the gore with interest. "She didn't stop bleeding, you see. She never stopped bleeding until there was no more left in her. And then she left me," he added, his voice plaintive. His eyes glinted craftily. "But not for long, no, not for long at all now. You see, I know where she is hiding. And I shall have her back."

The pirate stared at his employer, bewildered.

The man drew himself up. "You stare, like all the others. But you will see that I am right. I have been given another chance to show her the error of her choices." His expression grew distant. "To atone for the wrong I did in loving her so much."

And as suddenly his voice was cold, commanding again. "Dawn, you say? You'd best be correct, 'Jack'." Light gleamed off the buttons on his coat as the speaker turned toward the imposter menacingly. He leaned forward, spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth, eyes glittering in the flickering half-light. "By the time the sun shines on this Godforsaken isle again, my daughter – my Elizabeth – had best be back in my care. And Will Turner in my hands." 

~*~

Will could see the lights of the port at Tortuga shining in the distance as the forest thinned around him. Ana's figure, somewhat ahead and moving faster without the added burden of Lizbet, was silhouetted between the trees against the flickering yellow lights of the town. He had opened his mouth to call to her when a shot rang out nearby. Ana dropped to the ground.

Will bit out a curse and reached around Lizbet for his sword, freezing when the moonlight glinted off the barrel of a pistol pressed to the side of his daughter's head.

"I'll be relievin' ye of that burden ye're carrying," said a silky voice. "One way or another." The man holding the pistol stepped from the shadowed woods; Will recognized the false Jack, who cocked his weapon and reached for Lizbet. "Which way will ye choose?"

Will's throat closed off as he handed his daughter over, gently pulling her clinging hands away from the sleeve of his shirt. "Just for a little while, sweetheart, I promise," he choked out in answer to her whimper. Lizbet sniffled and nodded bravely.

"Excellent choice. And now, me lad, on yer knees." The gun barrel followed Will down, resting in the center of his forehead as his arms were grabbed by unseen accomplices of the false Jack and painfully tied behind him.

Lizbet cried out but the pirate brandished his pistol and she fell silent, biting her lip. "That's it, poppet," 'Jack' said menacingly. " 'Ee be quiet as the grave, or else."

"Hurt her and I will kill you," gritted Will. The pirates guffawed loudly at this, but Will ignored them. He was more interested in the shape at the edge of the forest that got stealthily to its feet and crept away, toward the town, the lights and the Cochon D'Or.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: "And ye shall know the snorks, and the snorks shall set you free." Aimee 8:22

Wait For No Man

Chapter 12

A violent pounding on the door woke Edmund from the sound sleep he hadn't been aware he was having. The pounding from without subsided, to be replaced by an equally furious pounding within.

"Ow," he said to nobody in particular, rubbing his aching forehead. He sat up in the bed, cradling his head in both hands, shaking it gently.

He blinked. Bed? What was he doing in a – oh. Edmund stifled a grin. He remembered now.

There was a scuffle outside the door, and raised female voices, and then the door slammed open.

"Anamaria?" Edmund hurriedly got to his feet, wrapping the thin blanket around him. "What's happened? Where's Will?"

"Taken, and the child with him," she said shortly, looking him up and down. "Hurry up."

He nodded and decided that nodding was a very bad idea. Edmund stumbled across the room to the screen, rubbing his head.

"Something wrong?" Ana asked.

"It's nothing, a rum headache," Edmund replied, ducking to look under the chair behind the screen. "Where the hell are my pants?" He peered around the edge of the screen to find Rose flouncing into the room, her nose high, her back to the amused Ana, her arms full of clothing.

She came around the screen just as Edmund dropped the blanket. Rose grinned; Edmund rolled his eyes and took the folded bundle she held out to him. "Cleaned and mended, my lord," she said pertly, dropping a curtsey.

"Thank you, Rose," he smiled at her, buttoning his pants. A thought occurred to Edmund. He patted down his pockets and cocked an eyebrow at the wench, who blushed and slowly produced a small leather moneybag from behind her back. Edmund chuckled. "Tell you what – you can keep it all if you find me a nice, sharp sword in the next sixty seconds." Rose's blue eyes grew round, and then there was nothing to be seen of her but a swirl of skirts as she ran out of the room.

He shrugged on his shirt and padded across the bare wooden floor, groping under the bed for his boots and tugging them on.

Ana shifted off the doorjamb where she had been leaning. "Ready?"

"Aye, as soon as I get a weapon." Edmund tied the bright sash around his waist and ran his fingers through his hair, wincing slightly. Anamaria rummaged in a leather pouch at her side, pulling from it what looked to Edmund like a twig and offering it to him.

"Chew on this," she said. 

Edmund examined the twig. On closer inspection it was a thin layer of bark, rolled up tightly. "What is this?" 

"Willow bark. 'Twill help your head." With a what-the-hell shrug, Edmund popped the twig in his mouth. The lady pirate turned to go. "We've little time. The whore won't be back," Ana tossed over her shoulder. "Not now she has all your gold."

Edmund merely smiled as Rose then shoved her way into the room past Anamaria and presented him with a cutlass and another curtsey, panting. He cupped the young wench's cheek. "Again I am in your debt." He nodded to the purse tightly clutched in her hand. "Use that well, my friend." He slid the cutlass through his sash and turned to a surprised Ana. "Let's go."

~*~

"And Belle said they'd been held at this abandoned sugar plantation?" Edmund liked to have his facts straight, even when it annoyed his conversational partner, as it clearly did now. 

Anamaria huffed out an irritated sigh. "Yes, 'tis what she said. Watch yer step here, 'tis mucky."

He could swear she covered a grin when he squelched up to the knee in marsh. "Thank you for your timely warning," Edmund said dryly, though in truth that was the only thing dry about him by the time he was finished extricating himself and retrieving his boot.

Ana chuckled, then grasped his arm. "Be still."

He duly froze in his tracks. A long, thickish shadow was looped about a low-hanging branch; as Edmund watched, the loop detached itself at one end and slithered into the marsh. Edmund's brows nearly climbed off his forehead as this process went on for long minutes. The snake must be absolutely massive, though he couldn't see it clearly in the dappled moonlight. 

Something brushed against his leg; Edmund swallowed. Ana, for her part, whispered out what sounded like a prayer or charm or possibly just a string of epithets, here eyes closed, her body swaying slightly.

And then, as suddenly as they'd seen it, the serpent disappeared; whether into deeper water or a puff of smoke Edmund was hard pressed to say. "What was that – that thing?" he whispered when it was safe to speak again.

"Dambala," Ana breathed, clearly awed. "Protector of my people…" And then her mask of practicality slipped back into place. "Or possibly just a ruddy big snake. Come on."

They came out of the forest along a spit of land that lifted into a cliff face, atop which Edmund could make out twinkling lights and the ghostly shape of a large house. He nodded at Ana, who pointed out to sea. Edmund turned to look.

Across the white breakers he could see the shape of a ship at full sail, approaching slowly. He looked at Ana. "They mean to take the child away." 

"Aye," she agreed. "Which means we'd best hurry."

~*~

If it hadn't been that no fewer than seven men held pistols on them, Jack reflected, he'd have made a clean break for it as he and Bill were untied, separated, and tied again. The false Jack seemed to take particular pleasure in nearly dislocating Jack's shoulders in trussing him securely. 

'Jack' grinned at him. "Comfortable?" Jack yawned elaborately; Bill spat on the man's feet, and took a fist to the jaw for his trouble.

The captives were rousted to their feet. "Come on," one of the pirates said, jerking Bill forward roughly. "Ye've an invitation ye don' want t' miss."

They stumbled over the rocky ground, prodded along by swords and pistols, over the top of the cliff and down a narrow path toward the sea. Spray thrown up by the shoals below stung their faces; in the distance loomed a ship, sails ghostly white in the moonlit sky. Bill sent Jack a significant look, and he returned a nod.

They'd nearly reached the pebbled spit of land that served for a beach. Jack looked at the rock face, realizing from the half-dried algae clinging to the crags above their heads that they must be at low tide, or not far past. Getting toward dawn, then.

They rounded a pillar of barnacle-strewn granite and before them gaped the mouth of a mammoth cave in the cliff wall. Jack reared back but was shoved harshly inside, Bill behind him, and what he saw brought him up short.

It wasn't the lanterns all over the cave floor, casting an eerie light, that made Jack growl deep in his throat, nor the phalanx of pirates, armed to the teeth. It was the sight of the man in the elegant brown coat, nudging with his foot a badly beaten and tightly bound Will.

"So you see," the man was saying, "I am merely taking back what is mine. You were a fool to think you could keep her from me."

Will spat out some blood. "Lizbet is not your daughter," he snarled.

The man shrugged and chuckled, then lashed out with a vicious kick to Will's stomach. "And the first thing she will learn is that her name is Elizabeth, not that foolish nickname given her by an ignorant blacksmith. Elizabeth she was, and Elizabeth she shall be, if I must chastise her a hundredfold for it. She was always strong-minded, but this time I shall raise her differently, and she will know better than to throw herself away on a murdering pirate's son."

The false Jack spoke up. "I've brought you the others, sir."

The other man rounded on them, and Jack recoiled from the madness in Governor Swann's eyes. 

"Ah, Jack Sparrow." Swann held up a hand mockingly. "I know, 'Captain' Jack Sparrow. You'll forgive an old friend for the informality, I know."

"God help us." And for the first time in his life, Jack meant it. "You're mad."

Instantly he knew he'd made a mistake. Swann's eyes narrowed. "Yet another in the long series of insults for which I receive recompense tonight. Starting with, of course, your corruption of my daughter."

Jack blinked. "I never laid so much as a hand on the girl, let alone f– " 

Swann backhanded him across the face before he could utter the profanity. "Watch your mouth, pirate." He seemed to gather himself in hand before continuing. "I refer to your exposing Elizabeth to the corrupting influence of experiences outside her sphere, and to your brazen encouragement of a connection to this good-for-nothing," he nudged Will again.

Jack cut to the heart of the matter. "Elizabeth's dead, Swann. Killing Will won't bring her back."

Swann's expression went crafty. "You all think I'm a fool, don't you? I know what you did, Sparrow. What you all did. How you tried to hide her from me, telling me she'd died, when the truth was quite different, was it not?"

Jack was bewildered. "If you say so. What the hell are you on about?"

Swann chuckled. "The child, Sparrow. The child."

"He thinks Lizbet is Elizabeth," Will croaked from the ground.

Swann turned on him. "I have been given a chance to right my grievous wrong, and I shall take it. This time you cannot take her from me, Turner. You cannot kill her."

"I didn't kill Elizabeth," Will said dully, as though knowing it was a futile argument. "I loved her."

Swann's voice went tight and high. "Did you not sully her body? Did you not get her with child?" He nodded to the pirates, who began to drag Will to the wall of the cave, where Jack could make out an iron loop embedded in the rock about four feet from the floor. They lashed him there as Swann went on. "Who but you should be blamed for her blood? So much blood," he whispered, almost to himself. "She left me then, but I shall have her back, and no man shall love her!"

That loop was well below the high tide mark, Jack realized as water began to pool slowly around the soles of his boots.

Bill cleared his throat. "Don' punish the lass fer yer sorrow, me lord."

Swann inched toward him, pushing his face close to the other man's. "So you do have a voice. Bootstrap Bill, isn't it?"

"William Turner," the ex-pirate said with dignity, "an' if ye're lookin' fer the author of this tragedy, ye should pick on me. After all, 'twas I begot the lad."

Swann stroked his chin. "Are you offering yourself in young Turner's place?"

Bill notched his chin up. "That I am."

Swann snorted. "A touching gesture from a man who left the raising of his child to others. Which is a mistake I do not intend to make." He beckoned to 'Jack', who with several others pulled Bill toward an outcropping about eight feet up the wall, securing him to another iron ring there. "However," Swann rubbed his hands together, "you may die with him. Well," he added puckishly, "not to say 'with'. More like 'after'. When you have watched your child die, of course, as I had to watch mine."

Jack struggled forward, knowing it was fruitless. The water had crept up several inches, and the pirates were sloshing as they dragged him to yet another iron ring, this one maybe twelve feet up.

"You know, of course, that the tide around Tortuga can go as high as twenty feet in a single swell. The rumrunners who built that sugar plantation knew it too, which is why one can find moorings in this cave at a number of levels." Swann grinned maliciously. "Though I do not know whether such a tide is in store tonight, I am convinced that there is a special place reserved for you in Hell, Sparrow. But as with all of you, your fate is in God's hands now, whether you drown or starve. He sketched them a mock bow. "Good night, gentlemen. 'Jack', I leave them to your care and the will of the Almighty."

The imposter saluted as Swann and the pirate crew left the cavern, then smiled at the captives. "Ye'll excuse me, gents. Must get to higher ground."

The tide was coming in with a will then, sloshing over some of the lanterns. Will struggled to his knees, all the higher he could get with his arms cinched securely to the iron mooring, water buffeting his thighs. Jack cursed succinctly.

"Can 'ee loosen the ropes on that rough stone, boy?" Bill asked, concern lacing his voice.

Will glanced at his father with a nod and began to scrape his wrists arduously against the outcropping. A good-sized wave knocked him over, and Jack nearly slipped from his perch in his agitation. But Will soon surfaced, shaking his head like a wet dog.

"Jack," Will said quietly, concentrating on his hands, "you have the best chance. Swear to me you'll save my girl from that maniac, and bring her safely to Edmund." His voice echoed in the depths of the cavern.

"Don't be a…" Jack began, but the younger man looked up at him intently, and Jack found himself nodding. "Aye, lad. I swear it."

The sea, cold and choked with weed, poured freely through the cave opening now, reaching up to splatter against Will's chest. Still the blacksmith struggled on, though Jack could no longer see his hands under the roiling surf. "Fight, lad," whispered Jack, though he knew his friend could not hear him. "Fight this."

A warm gale blew hard through the cavern, the sweet scent of roses on the air, and it seemed to Jack's blurred fancy that the wind was trying to push the tide away from its prisoner, futilely swirling and whistling around the cave walls. Below him Jack could see Will hesitate, closing his eyes as he breathed in the fragrant breeze, then redoubling his efforts to get free, jerking hard against the unforgiving iron.

But soon the waves were lapping at his chin, and Will strained just to keep his face above the water. Within minutes he was reduced to gulping for breath and plunging under the breakers, then surfacing with a gasp after several heart-stopping seconds. 

Bill shouted his son's name, over and over, his voice growing hoarse; they could see his white face and the black circle of his mouth as he sucked in precious air. And then all they could see was the bleak and bubbling tide, closing finally over Will's dark head.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: Many thanks to Rachel. I am not worthy.

Wait For No Man

Chapter 13

Something was terribly, terribly wrong. 

She couldn't put her finger on it, nor on why she felt so, but Anamaria knew as sure as certain that there was something horribly amiss.

__

Accept your guide. The voice of Maman echoed in the lady pirate's head. Ana closed her eyes and waited, and was immediately surrounded by the fragrance of beach roses. It made her think of something… just outside her reach. No matter. Her feet began to move, seemingly of their own volition, falteringly at first and then faster and faster, as though she were being pulled along by an unseen tether. 

Gritting her teeth, Ana tried not to panic. _Open yourself,_ Maman said. _When a Loa guides you, you has to trust._

Easier said than done, but Ana held on, running at a blind sprint now. And as suddenly as the feeling had taken her, it abated. With a gasp Ana's dark eyes flew open.

Pebbles clattered over the raw edge of the cliff, where Ana's toes jutted over the brink. She stumbled back from the sheer drop, panting. What did it mean?

And then a voice floated to her from far below, echoing weirdly in the damp night air. A man's voice, crying out in pain… calling for…

Ana's eyes grew round and she threw herself on the ground at the edge, craning her neck over to see. Yes, there it was, a cave in the cliff face. She could make out a path, but too far away, and probably filled with pirates. There had to be another way down… Frantically she ran her gaze over the immediate area. Ah!

There was a stand of shrubs a few feet away, their branches drooping gracefully over the side of the cliff. If Ana went slow and canny, she could probably make that ledge, and from there… No time left to figure it out. She wasn't sure how she knew that, but she accepted it, dashing to the shrub – beach roses, she noticed with a small smile – and began to let herself down carefully.

The rest of the scramble to the beachhead was a blur, but she made it. Ana flattened herself against the cliff wall at the entrance to the cavern. The agonized voice belonged to Bill, she recognized it now. He was calling for – 

Again the fragrant wind swirled around her, lifting her black hair in a small maelstrom. Ana's eyes grew wide, and without further ado she filled her lungs and dove into the swirling water roiling into the cave.

Black and cold it was, the sea, but Ana could feel someone tugging gently at her, and she swam doggedly in that direction. 

She found something, brushed against it with her outstretched fingertips. At first she thought it was seaweed, but it was too silky, winding through her fingers, and then she hit something else soft yet hard below, and that something jerked away. Instinctively Ana followed the small movement, and found a face.

Will's face.

That was the anguish in Bill's voice. That was what was so horribly wrong. Will was drowning.

Not if Ana had anything to say about it.

She cupped the sides of his head and found his mouth, pressing her lips close and hard, forcing his mouth open. He struggled, but Ana had known he would mistake her intent. Then she gave him all the air left in her lungs.

With a mighty kick Anamaria burst through the water's surface, threw her hair back and sucked in a breath, diving back down in the same movement. This time she gave Will half her air, and this time he took it greedily. She groped for the knife stuck in her belt and felt blindly along Will's body to find where he was tied, slashing at the heavy rope. It wasn't enough; her lungs were burning. Ana kicked for the surface a second time, gave Will a breath, and finally the rope gave way. In another heartbeat, two dark heads broke the surface of the sea.

~*~

In the darkest part of the marsh, an old woman stopped rocking and chanting… and smiled.

Belle watched carefully. Oui, Maman was herself again, at least for a time. "Maman?"

"I is still here, child. But the trouble is too." Her voice was grave. "There was more trouble than I knew, and the gros bon ange, she was pulled away from the little one. Now she is weaker."

"Protect the jeune fille, Maman. Protect ma petite," Belle begged, tears starting to her eyes. She knew what she asked, the stirring of the darker side of Vodoun, but Belle didn't care, not when her Lizbet was in danger.

"Aye," Maman nodded. She clapped, twice. There was a squawk from beyond the rim of the light cast by the fire, quickly silenced; and then Pierre stepped into the light, offering the old mambo a new-made charm of white feathers and sticky red. Belle bit her lip, trying to ignore the dark stains spattered across the houngan's white tunic as he produced a wooden cup in his other hand.

Maman smiled as she poured a thin stream of crimson upon the ground, following the contours of the veve she'd made earlier. "Now, we see what we see."

And she drank.

~*~

Edmund approached the house as stealthily as he could, given that there was naught but a wide expanse of overgrown lawn to hide him. But the night helped, and the element of surprise. He hoped.

And then, as he watched, the lights in the house went out one by one. Their enemy was on the move, heading for the sea and the ship Ana had spotted earlier. Edmund ran forward, crouching low, diving below a tiny hillock when a slice of candlelight lit the doorway of the mansion. He counted: six, no seven figures silhouetted against the clouded sky, the first one carrying a bulky burden. The burden squirmed.

Lizbet.

A plaintive wail drifted across the lawn to Edmund, and he gritted his teeth. Yet angry as he was, he knew a frontal attack would result in nothing better than a heroic death, and the breaking of his vow to Will. And that he would not allow.

Will… Jack… Bill… Edmund prayed like hell Ana had found them, and found them alive. They'd agreed to part company, he to find his goddaughter and she to find her captain. Edmund crept along behind his quarry, looking for an opening. He'd have little chance at best to save the child if no help were forthcoming.

The wind churned up then, the delicate scent of beach roses in the air. The sudden gale pushed the clouds away, and a figure appeared at the edge of the cliff, silhouetted against the moon like an avenging angel, his wet hair whipping in the maelstrom, a knife clenched in his fist.

"PUT MY DAUGHTER DOWN!" roared Will, fury in his tone. 

The group of pirates stopped; Lizbet screamed for her father. 

Edmund ran hard toward them. "Will!" he shouted, then threw his sword as high and hard as he could. It seemed to hang in the air, glittering as it fell end over end… and then Will leapt for it, catching the hilt and leveling it at the leader, who staggered back, clutching his burden tightly.

"She is mine! You shall never have her again!" he cried in a reedy voice; a familiar voice, thought Edmund, but he was shaken from his musing as from behind Will raced three more figures to stand at his back.

The wind howled and spun in a vortex of wrath; mist rolled in at their feet, obscuring the landscape. Thunder cracked; lightning forked through the sky, illuminating the faces of the combatants. Edmund stared. Swann? How – what – 

And then all thought fled as another arc of lightning showed the false Jack aiming a pistol, straight at Jack Sparrow's heart.

~*~

He didn't know what hit him, didn't realize that the last sound was not the crack of thunder but the report of a pistol. There was a blur of white toward him and then the ground came up to meet him suddenly, jarringly, painfully. Somebody cried out, someone else screamed; and then Jack rolled out from under Edmund, staring in horror at the blood streaking the other man's shirt. Jack snapped his head up, black fury in his heart.

The imposter was backing away, a smoking pistol in his hand.

Jack bared his teeth and started for him.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: Well, this is it, folks, the end of the ride. Please make sure you have all your belongings with you as you exit. My thanks to all of you for reading and hopefully enjoying this weird little story of mine. I certainly had fun writing it.

In the middle of this chapter you will find a cliffhanger. I like cliffhangers. However, I do not like being spitted and roasted over a high flame or tossed in an iron maiden, so just keep scrolling down. The rest of the story is there somewhere.

Wait For No Man

Chapter 14

Edmund groaned; Ana tossed her sword to Bill and knelt by the wounded man. She groped inside his shirt and found only a jagged wound along his upper arm and shoulder. Her shoulders sagged in relief. No immediate danger of his dying, and Ana intended things should remain that way. She watched the combat keenly, all her senses on alert.

Abruptly Will raised his hand and threw Ana's knife with deadly accuracy into the throat of the villain nearest where Jack was to pass. The man went to his knees, then collapsed forward. Jack neatly relieved the dead man of his cutlass before the body hit the ground, barely looking and never breaking stride. The imposter broke into a run, but Jack was faster, forcing the false pirate captain to draw his sword.

"Kill him!" cried Swann, waving wildly at Will. "Kill them all!"

The Turners moved forward, keeping Ana and Edmund behind them. Three cutthroats attacked Will, two on Bill, while Swann backed away, his feverish gaze split between the two Jacks and the others. Lizbet screamed, a high-pitched sound that seemed to drive the storm before it.

Lightning split the sky as Bill growled and lashed out with a deadly kick, taking one opponent to the ground. With a snarl he brought his sword down hard, catching the other pirate across the throat and chest. That one fell back and Bill surged forward, plunging his cutlass into the man on the ground with a sickening crunch. He took a sword from the dead in his left hand and ran to help his son.

Will was masterful, focused; dodging, spinning, parrying with deadly grace. Bill leapt to the attack by his side, swords crossed against an oncoming blow. Another well-placed boot and one rogue's knee blew out. Ana could hear the crack of bone from where she sat trying to stanch Edmund's bleeding.

Or was that the crack of lightning? 

~*~

In the field between the cliff and the mansion Jack faced off against 'Jack'. "There's only room for one Jack Sparrow in the Caribbean," snarled Jack as they circled each other warily. "You want to be me?"

The false Jack waved his sword in an excess of bravado. "I'm Jack Sparrow," he howled. 

Jack's lip curled. "You haven't the guts."

'Jack' ran forward, his sword lifted high, and made a vicious slice at Jack, but the latter spun easily away and then lunged, lacerating the imposter in the side as he passed. 

"First blood," Jack grinned ferally. The other roared out an epithet and ran at him. Jack parried and booted him in the stomach, sending the imposter reeling back. Jack pressed his advantage, driving blow after deadly blow at the other man's face. The false Jack had his sword up, feebly blocking Jack's fury, but only just.

And then Jack stumbled, going to one knee, falling awkwardly to one side, his back exposed. The false Jack grinned through the blood on his face and lunged forward with a victorious shout. 

Jack smiled banefully to himself.

Righting himself with all the speed and grace of a panther, he spun the sword in his grip and plunged it back under his arm and up through the imposter's torso.

There was a gurgle, and then the false Jack fell lifelessly to the ground. Jack got up and wiped his sword on the grass, avoiding the spreading darkness around the body. 

"I take it back," he said. "You do have guts after all."

~*~

A horrific rattle signaled the end of another of Swann's protectors, and then Will made short work of the last, turning, finally, to face his nemesis. The wind shrieked around them, whipping the fog into the air. And then…

Ana wasn't exactly sure what happened then. The wind died abruptly. The mist gathered. Rippled. Thickened and surged, and then… parted, the fragrance of roses flooding out, the moon glowing like a silver sun, illuminating the final, fleeting clouds.

Beneath her fingers, Edmund whispered out a prayer, his eyes glued to the scene. Jack ran forward, faltered, and stopped, his jaw hanging open, disbelief on his face.

Will dropped his sword from seemingly nerveless fingers, staring at something Ana could not see. He went to his knees, swaying, his face drained of color. 

Swann too went white, flinching nervously back. "Stay away!" he shouted. "You lie!" He seemed to listen, and then again he shouted, raising an angry fist. "You lie! She is here with me, and here she will stay! No," he stepped back again, his lips trembling, his eyes wide and fearful. Ana's heart leapt to her throat; he was barely inches from the edge.

Will got to his feet; Swann jerked back at the sudden movement. "No, you cannot take her!" He clutched the sobbing Lizbet tightly. Tears gathered in the old man's eyes. "Please…" His voice broke. "She is all that's left…"

"PAPA!" Lizbet cried out for her father, reaching out her little arms. Will reached back toward her. Swann took a last involuntary step back, the edge of the cliff crumbled…

And then he fell, Lizbet still cradled in his arms. 

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Ana stared, unable to comprehend what had just happened, and then Will ran for the edge. It took both Jack and Bill tackling him to stop him from following his daughter over the cliff.

He clawed at the grass like a tiger. "NO! NO! Let me get to her, let me save her! Oh, God, my baby girl…" Ana looked away, wiping her own eyes, unable to bear the wracking sobs torn from Will's very soul.

Edmund rolled over, face on his good arm, and all Ana could see was the small tremors that shook him as he wept his silent grief into the very ground.

Bill had gathered his son in his arms, rocking him like a babe, putting his own sorrow for the granddaughter he'd never met aside, to comfort the son he hardly knew. 

Jack stood apart, staring at the ground, his posture more defeated than Ana had ever seen.

And the warm wind blew gently across them all, the faintest fragrance of roses drifting by.

The sky had begun to streak with purple, the grass was wet with early morning dew, and carried on the fragrant breeze was the indistinct whisper of chanting, of drums…

Ana felt her heart stutter. "Look," she whispered thickly, he sound catching in her throat. She swallowed. "Look." Still a whisper, but clearer now.

Bill heard her, turning to see what she pointed at with a shaking finger. 

Mist, it was, the thinnest tendrils twining upward ethereally from beyond the cliff face. The haze began to gather, arcing into the air, lifting toward the sky. Ana bent and pulled Edmund to his feet, helping him walk toward the others, her eyes fixed on the quickening vapor.

Jack came too, leaning to help Bill with Will.

Ana tore her gaze from the mystery in the sky to glance at the young father, on whose face was slowly dawning the most exquisitely painful hope.

"Elizabeth," he murmured. 

And then from below the lip of the cliffside miraculously rose a small, bedraggled figure, cradled in the haze as delicately as in her mother's embrace.

Ana forgot to breathe.

Bill uttered a prayer, Jack repeated a slightly more profane version. Will reached out, Edmund at his side; and Lizbet came safely home to her father's arms.

The wind swirled about the small group, touching each of them, lifting hair and clothes and spirits. Jack laughed aloud, slapping a grinning Edmund on the back. Will raised his face to the sky, eyes closed, and let the breeze caress him.

"I – I don't –" began Bill, under his breath. 

And all of a sudden Ana knew what it was. "It's her," she said with a slow smile. "It's Elizabeth. Maman said the child had a guardian…"

Bill nodded. "After livin' under th' sea fer five year I'd believe anythin'," he said hoarsely. "They see her, don't they?" he added after a moment.

Something Maman had told her came back to her. "They loved her," Ana said softly. "In life, they all loved her, in their way."

"Aye." Bill shook his head. "Swann saw her too, poor devil. Too mad with grief to know what he saw. I hope – " He broke off with a sigh.

"What?" Ana asked.

Bill quirked a half-smile. "I hope he knows her now," he said quietly.

~*~

__

A month later

Jack put the black and beaded wig he'd taken from the imposter Jack in the teak chest, running a finger over the other contents; his red silk scarf, his beloved hat, the water-damaged pistol that had contained a single shot for so many long years. A copy of a miniature of Elizabeth that Will had given him. A drawing Lizbet had made of the Pearl, the black charcoal lines stravaging all over the place. He smiled as the artist herself burst into the room and tackled his knees. "What's all the ruckus, mischief?" He closed the chest and snapped the lock shut. 

Lizbet gave him a reproachful look, so much like her mother's that Jack half-expected her to call him a bloody pirate. "I don't think real lords say ruckus, Uncle Cap – I mean Uncle John."

In reply he swung her up to his shoulder. "No? What do they say then?"

She looped her little arms around his neck and he galloped out of the elegant suite of rooms, heading for the grand staircase, where he looped a leg over the gleaming, hand-carved banister, plopped the child behind him, and slid á deux to the polished marble floor below. Lizbet squealed when Jack caught her at the bottom and swung her around. 

Gasping and laughing, she tried to answer him. "God… papa says… foo… faraw… eeeee!" as he tickled her.

Jack put her down and regarded her, pursing his lips. "You sure, 'Bet? I've seen your Godpapa do some silly things, but I can't say as I remember him going eeeeeee!" he imitated the tot's squeal, eliciting fresh peals of laughter.

The subject of their discussion came into the hall, chuckling. "What sort of slander are you perpetrating on my good name now, Jack?"

Jack straightened his expensive brocade waistcoat and sorted out his ruffled shirt. "That's Lord John Finch to you, Ned." He'd adopted this particular form of address for the Governor some weeks ago to add verisimilitude to the fiction that John Finch had been a childhood friend of Norrington's, back in England. 

Truth to tell, Jack hadn't so much as set foot in his alleged homeland in his entire life. But the good name of Jack Sparrow, privateer, had proved irretrievable in the end. Thanks to the villain in Swann's employ, Jack's letter of marque had been well and truly revoked, and the rumor that he'd died in Tortuga was too plausible to resist. So Jack had made a quick side trip to the Isla de Muertas and then retired, to settle in Port Royal as Lord John Finch, wealthy English expatriate. 

The astounding thing was, so far it had worked. Jack grinned involuntarily. Amazing what a little soap and attitude will do. And having the Governor vouch for you… not to mention save your ruddy life.

Edmund noticed the smile. "What are you sniggering about, you blot on the landscape?" he said, grinning back.

"Me?" Jack tried innocence, then gave up. Really, he just couldn't get the knack. "You, Ned. Look at you. I dress better than you do, now."

Edmund snorted, looking down at himself. "That's because I work for a living, unlike some people."

Jack looked over the Governor's billowing shirt and tight, fawn-colored pants skeptically. "Yes, that must be the subtle difference."

A knock came at the mansion's front door; moments later Weston ushered in a pretty, fresh-scrubbed girl of twenty or so, dressed in a demure gown of the palest blush color.

She curtseyed; Jack stared. Edmund took both the girl's hands in his own. "You look wonderful, Rose. How is the schooling going?"

Rose dimpled. "Quite well, my lord, I thank you. And my thanks for your kind invitation to luncheon this lovely afternoon."

Jack snorted. "How long did you have to practice that speech?" Rose's blue eyes narrowed dangerously; Jack backed away. "Don't be smacking the gentry now," he said, holding up his hands.

Rose ignored him, bending to chat with Lizbet instead. Edmund took the opportunity to draw his friend aside. "I meant to ask you this morning - how was your talk with Will?" he asked Jack.

Jack thought about the long, rum-soaked conversation he'd had at the smithy the previous evening. "He's better," he said. "Having Bill at the smithy with him and the child has done a world of good for the lad. The nightmares about the child, and from what Swann did to him, are fading; the scars on his body will fade too, in time. And knowing Elizabeth's still out there, waiting for him… aye, well, he's a changed man. More at peace."

Edmund nodded. "I expect having you around has helped too, Jack."

Jack chuckled. "'Tis easier to be around, since you've stopped wanting to see me do the hempen jig."

Edmund clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't get too comfortable, 'Lord John'. Having you underfoot all the time may just change my mind."

"Never you fear, Ned. I can't stay landlocked for long," Jack grinned. "Besides, the Pearl will miss me."

"Hm." Edmund shook his head as Will and his father were ushered into the room. "Does Captain Gibbs know how you think? And what about the rumored death of the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow?"

"Ned, Ned," said Jack, a twinkle in his dark eyes. "Haven't you ever heard of ghost pirates?"

~Finis~


End file.
